Drive the Fever Away
by Gala000085
Summary: Driving a feverish Shawn home to his father's house was not Lassiter's idea of a good time. No slash
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A little bit of Sick!Shawn whumpage.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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The soft patter of raindrops fell in an irregular rhythm against the windshield of the car, the wipers creating a _swish_ sound when they dragged across it, drawing away the water momentarily. The car drove smoothly, though under the speed limit due to the amount of water already on the roads, which shined reflectively as the headlights of the car illuminated the darkness surrounding it. The roads weren't too bad here even though they were so far out in the middle of nowhere that Waldo wouldn't even be able to find himself.

Lassiter removed one hand from the steering wheel to drag through his hair, still damp from earlier events. He sighed as he glanced at the man occupying the seat next to him, slumped against the window of the car. He reached over and placed his hand on the younger man's forehead, not surprised to find the heat radiating off the skin still lingered. They had only been driving for ten minutes after all. Shawn's lashes fluttered slightly at the contact but he didn't regain consciousness.

The crime scene he and his partner had been called to was so far out on the city's limits that he had momentarily been unsure on whether or not it actually was in his jurisdiction. The body had been found by a pair of unfortunate tourists who'd gone on a walkabout, though they had probably not thought that they would, quite literally, stumble upon a body. The tourists had gone off the trail, leading them further away from civilisation, only increasing the difficulty to actually get to the body, but they had managed to arrive on scene about an hour after they had been called. Carlton had been rather proud of O'Hara for not giving away more than a flinch at the sight of the body.

Whoever was responsible had clearly wanted to make sure that their victim was dead and stayed that way. Lassiter had scrunched his nose slightly at the sight, bringing a cloth up to cover his nose and mouth as he'd knelt down to get a closer look. He didn't ask O'Hara to follow suit, even when she didn't do so herself. Even the leaves that had been covering the body previously bore evidence of the brutality. However, as he looked closer and started looking at the surrounding area he came to the conclusion that the murder had not taken place here. There would undoubtedly be signs on the scene if a murder like _this_ had been committed here.

He didn't know why he had been surprised to find Spencer waltzing onto the scene some fifteen minutes after their arrival. After all these years he really should know that there were no limitations to the when or how the man annoyed him. So, he'd taken a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists at his side until the urge to harm the younger man had been pushed aside momentarily.

As Lassiter thought back he scolded himself for not noticing Spencer's strange behaviour sooner. Something had been off from the very beginning when the man hadn't started flailing and joking around. He had _not_ actually waltzed onto the scene. Lassiter frowned as he remembered that Shawn had stumbled slightly, catching himself on a conveniently placed tree. At the time Carlton had been sure that Spencer was in the midst of another 'vision'. It should have dawned on him a lot earlier that something was wrong.

Spencer had been quiet – too quiet. Guster hadn't been with him, and if Lassiter remembered correctly O'Hara had asked where he was to which Spencer had answered rather unenthusiastically replied that he was busy at his other job. The fact that Lassiter had forgotten about Spencer's presence also should have alerted him. Whenever Spencer was around he made sure that you wouldn't be unaware of it.

When it had started to rain, Lassiter's mood had gone down the drain. His patience with the crime scene was drawing thin as water started seeping through his suit jacket, allowing him to feel the cold through his shirt, raising slight goose bumps along his arms. A loud shout had him racing over to where a bunch of officers were gathered around the department's psychic. At first Carlton had thought the man was having one of his episodes, and he was rather alarmed to find he was actually relieved as it maybe could have given them an excuse to get away from this place and out of the rain.

Spencer had not moved. The rain had plastered his hair against his head as well as clearly trying desperately to drench his clothes, though apparently Spencer's jacket was better than his own as the younger man looked marginally drier than Lassiter felt. Juliet had been by the downed man's side in an instant, immediately asking the surrounding officers what had happened. None of them knew. The only thing they could tell the two detectives was that Spencer had suddenly collapsed.

Getting an ambulance to come to them would have taken a lot longer than driving the so-called psychic back to the city themselves. It had been a tough decision. He knew that one of them had to stay at the crime scene, but he wasn't sure he wanted to let O'Hara take his car, and his partner had already refused to let one of the officers take him. Lassiter would never learn to fully understand the logic of women. He had grudgingly agreed to take Spencer back to the city, though he had winced slightly at the sight of the now very wet young man being loaded into _his_ car.

O'Hara had said she could handle the scene, but he had no doubt that she would be just fine. She had at least brought waterproofs.

Lassiter looked over at Spencer again, taking note of the flushed skin and the slight shiver that was running through the man. Lassiter remembered O'Hara pulling her waterproofs out of the trunk of his car and briefly wondered what else she might have stashed there. In the hopes of finding a blanket or _anything_ that could help keep Spencer from shivering quite so much, Lassiter pulled his car over on the side of the road, turning on the emergency lights just in case even though the road was completely deserted.

He was lucky. Why his partner had thrown a woolly blanket into the trunk of _his_ car he had no idea, but at the moment he welcomed the sight of it. He could always question Juliet about it later.

As he quickly shut the car door behind him he heard Spencer mumble something as he shifted in his seat, clearly dissatisfied with the sudden noise. Lassiter didn't hesitate in draping the blanket over the younger man, hoping that it would at least provide a small bit of comfort to counter the distress Spencer was obviously feeling as his face settled in a frown of dismay.

"You never do anything halfway do you, Spencer?" Carlton mumbled as he again laid a hand roughly against Shawn's forehead. He was far too warm to the touch. So much it wouldn't surprise the detective if steam suddenly started evaporating from the skin.

Shawn shifted again and turned his head slightly to the sound of Lassiter's voice. It seemed hard for him to open his eyes and he ended up blinking heavily before gazing feverishly and obviously confused at Lassiter.

"Lassie…?"

Lassiter was rather shocked to hear the normally overly exuberant man's voice sound so exhausted and, quite frankly, weak.

"Unfortunately," Lassiter answered him, trying to sound as gruff as he normally did.

The fact that Spencer didn't immediately retort with a quip of some kind was a clear indicator of the man's unease. Instead his eyes shifted slowly and confusedly around the interior of the car, though that small task seemed to require too much energy and in the end he croaked, "Where am I?"

"In my car," Lassiter said, making sure that his tone was a clear indicator of what he thought of that arrangement.

"What happened?" Shawn asked tiredly as he dragged a hand across his eyes, making him look more like a child than Lassiter would ever have thought possible.

"You fainted at the crime scene," Lassiter informed him as he watched Spencer clutch his hand tightly around the blanket as though it was a lifesaver.

"I didn't faint," Shawn mumbled in disagreement as he tried to pull the blanket further up his chest.

"Yeah, you did," Carlton retorted nonchalantly. As another shiver ran through Spencer's body he asked, "Are you still cold?"

Spencer nodded mutely, and though he might deny it later, Lassiter felt a stab of sympathy for the other man because he truly looked miserable.

"Is your jacket still wet?" Lassiter asked, realising that he probably should have checked himself whether or not the jacket was soaked through, like his own, which he'd discarded in the backseat of the car.

"…don't know…" Spencer mumbled and then sniffed quietly, promptly dragging his hand across his eyes again.

"If it's wet it would be a good idea to get it off," Carlton said, trying to sound a little less grouchy.

"No," Spencer croaked before sniffing again.

"Fine," Carlton relented, finding it equally impossible to argue with Spencer in this state as on any other day, "but if you're cold and the jacket is wet it won't do you any good."

Spencer's eyes shifted briefly towards him, allowing Lassiter to see the man's eyes watery from the fever that was coursing through him. Now he wished that he had stayed in the rain at the crime scene and had let O'Hara take the car. Surely that would have been better than this.

Carlton sighed again as he returned his attention to the car. He started the engine up again, turning the heating in the car up a notch for Spencer's sake before driving back onto the road.

"Where're we going?" Spencer asked so quietly that Carlton turned his head to see what had muffled his voice. It seemed Shawn was attempting to get warmer by pulling the blanket all the way over his head.

"_I_ am driving _you_ to the hospital; and don't do that," Lassiter added as he reached over with one hand and pulled the blanket away from Shawn face, earning a groan in response.

"I don't wanna go…" Spencer whined, still sounding so horribly young, but the whine still reminded Carlton that it was still Spencer he was dealing.

"Tough," he simply answered returning his full attention to the road.

"I don't need the hospital," Shawn insisted as he rubbed at his eyes again.

"Spencer," Lassiter sighed with exasperation, "you collapsed."

"So?" The mumbled reply was muffled even further by Spencer's insistence of pulling the blanket up as far as humanely possible.

"Alright, Spencer," Lassiter said as he pulled the blanket off of Shawn's head again, briefly taking note of how the younger man's hair was now standing up at odd angles, "where would you like to go?"

"Home," the one word was voiced so pathetically childlike that Lassiter felt a stab of sympathy for the other man.

"You can't be left alone in your condition," Carlton tried to reason with psychic.

Carlton was fixed with a feverish glare followed by a loud sniff.

"…cold…" Shawn mumbled as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he tried to dig himself further into the seat of the car.

Carlton wordlessly turned the heating up another notch.

Spencer tried to lean his head back against the seat, but obviously found the position too uncomfortable when he shifted again and tried to lean his head against the window instead. When he wasn't satisfied by that either (signified by a drawn out whine) he rubbed at his eyes and sniffed again.

"Here," Carlton said, reaching backwards he grabbed hold of his jacket and threw it to Spencer, "It's damp but you can use it as a pillow."

The jacket could just as well have been an alien judging by the way he was looking at it. He shifted his delirious gaze from the jacket to Lassiter clearly at a loss as to what he was supposed to do.

"Oh for crying out loud," Lassiter exclaimed, and Shawn visibly flinched at the suddenly harsh tone.

Lassiter pulled the car over again, leaving the engine running as he jerked his jacket away from Shawn's weak hold. He quickly folded the jacket into a makeshift pillow, quite aware of Spencer's eyes attempting but failing in following his movements.

"Here," Lassiter said as he shoved the jacket back at Spencer a little harder than necessary.

Spencer gave a weak nod causing him to moan in pain and bring a hand up to press against his forehead. As Carlton was pulling back onto the road he watched out the corner of his eye as Shawn tucked the folded jacket between his head and the window, his contented sigh a clear indicator of the much more comfortable position.

It wasn't long before Spencer was asleep again, and Lassiter welcomed the quiet, though even unconscious Shawn still managed to sniff on occasion, but Lassiter simply refused to feel greater sympathy for the man. Still, he remembered the man's delirious state but rather adamant words that he didn't want to go to the hospital. Lassiter glanced at the unconscious form again, a slow smile forming on his lips. If Spencer didn't want to go to the hospital he would just have to go to his father's so he at least was someone else's responsibility. Carlton was quite certain that Shawn would not be too fond of this arrangement.

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So, Henry's up next...

Feedback is always greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all who read and reviewed the first chapter! Your response was greatly appreciated!

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The springs in the couch creaked in protest as Henry leaned against the back of it while simultaneously resting his feet on the coffee table. Just because his son was not allowed to do this didn't mean Henry couldn't. He took a swig from his beer as he turned on his television, surfing channels in the hope of finding something at least mediocre. He felt quite content as he listened to the sounds of the television, not quite loud enough to drown out the rain assaulting his windows.

It had been quite some time since it had rained like this, but he welcomed it as long as he wasn't out on his boat when the rain started to fall. However, being inside and listening to the rainfall didn't bother him. It might if it carried on for days on end but that rarely happened in this area. He chuckled slightly at the presenter of the cooking show he was watching before leaning forward and placing his beer on the table in front of him by his feet.

A knock on the front door interrupted him just as he was leaning back again. He switched off the television and pushed himself into a standing position, and started towards the door, grumbling in irritation as whoever was at the door knocked again.

He hadn't expected to find the SBPD's Head Detective standing on his doorstep looking slightly dishevelled, lacking his normal work jacket.

"Spencer," he greeted and Henry was quite certain that he detected a sigh around that one word.

"Detective," Henry greeted back, feeling slightly wary as to what the detective was doing here, "what can I do for you?"

"I'm here to drop off your son," Lassiter said, stepping aside to allow Henry to see the passenger side of the detective's car where, sure enough, he was just able to make out the slumped form of his son, his hair poking out over the top of something dark that was stuffed between his head and the window.

"What'd he do now?" Henry asked as he rubbed a tired hand over his face.

"He collapsed at a crime scene," Lassiter answered, his tone even.

"What?" Henry looked back over at the slumped form of his son, but it was too difficult to make out any actual details through the rain splattered window.

Before Lassiter could answer he had already made his way out into the rain, the detective following behind him as they both made their way to the car. Lassiter lifted one hand and knocked against the window just by Shawn's head with a sharp, "Spencer."

"Don't do that," Henry scolded without taking his eyes off of Shawn. His son stirred however at the rough treatment of the window, the tremors no doubt going through his head. Shawn shifted in his seat, his head moving away from his makeshift pillow just enough that Henry was able to pry the door open without receiving an armful of Shawn.

Shawn turned his head slightly but when he caught sight of his father he fell back against the seat with a groan. Out the corner of his eye Henry saw Lassiter give a small smirk.

"I was going to take him to the hospital," Lassiter explained, "but he didn't want to go."

"He wanted to come here?" Henry questioned in surprise.

"He wasn't clear," Lassiter said simply. "I think we should get him into the house."

Henry had frowned slightly at the detective's first words but pushed his thoughts aside as he had to agree with the second statement. It wasn't doing Shawn any good sitting in the car; neither was it doing them any good standing around in the rain.

"Shawn?" Henry said questionably as he leaned down to get a closer look at his son. He looked like hell. He was shivering hard, the dark circles under his eyes standing out in stark contrast against his pale skin, a slight flush from a fever evident. "Do you think you can stand up?"

Shawn rolled his head in the direction of his voice and blearily cracked one eye open, peering at his father with a feverish glance.

"He was pretty out of it earlier," Lassiter said needlessly. Henry could probably have figured that out by himself judging from how his son was looking now.

As if to defy the detective's words, Shawn placed one foot on the asphalt, the small action seeming to drain him of energy.

"Alright," Henry mumbled before looking at Lassiter, "give me a hand, will you?"

It was clear that Lassiter would really rather not but that the man was smart enough to know that he didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. With a sigh and a slight scowl on his face he stepped forward, taking a hold of Shawn's right arm and started pulling him out of the car, the blanket that had been laid over Shawn falling to the floor in the process. Henry grabbed a hold of his son's left arm as soon as he could, earning a mumble of disagreement from Shawn who was clearly dissatisfied with his new position.

"It wouldn't hurt you to help a bit, Shawn," Henry chastised lightly as they, quite literally, dragged Shawn back to the house.

Shawn mumbled something in response but didn't attempt to get his feet under him. Lassiter shifted his grip on Shawn's right arm, bringing it further around his shoulders. Henry let Lassiter hold onto his son as he went to close the front door, Lassiter obviously not pleased with the situation as Shawn was now leaning heavily against him. The detective glared briefly at Henry when he returned to carry his half of Shawn again.

"No way," Lassiter said as Henry eyed the staircase. They changed course and instead steered towards the couch where Lassiter surprisingly helped set down Shawn carefully, and dare Henry even think it, gently.

Despite the careful manhandling, Shawn almost toppled forwards, his fall prevented by Henry's hand pressing against his chest, slowly pushing back against the couch.

"Ow," Shawn croaked, promptly bringing a hand up to rub against his temple.

"What happened?" Henry asked as he eyed his son's obvious discomfort.

Carlton sighed, shook his head, then sighed again before shrugging.

"All I know is what I told you earlier," he said in the end as he rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted from the day's events. "We were at a crime scene, Spencer turned up and it wasn't long before he fainted."

Shawn mumbled in disagreement but Lassiter ignored him.

"What on Earth was he doing at a crime scene in that condition?" Henry asked as he stepped forward to free Shawn from his jacket when he couldn't stand watching the shivers that kept wrecking through his son's body.

"G' 'way," Shawn mumbled, his words slurring as he tried to bat Henry's hands away.

"Don't be an idiot, Shawn," Henry scolded as he won out a little too easily for his liking as Shawn slumped back in defeat allowing Henry, with some help from Carlton, to rid Shawn of his damp jacket. He draped it over the back of one of the chairs before returning to his son who was now attempting to disappear into the couch.

"I'm pretty sure he has a fever," Lassiter supplied needlessly from the sidelines.

"Really?" Henry returned sarcastically, making sure the detective saw his eye roll before he turned his back on him.

Shawn had now toppled sideways, allowing the upper part of his body to lie slumped over the end of the couch, while one foot was still resting on the floor, the other hovering a few inches above it. Lassiter materialised at his side and it took the two of them to drag Shawn onto the couch in a more comfortable position, and while Henry took care of his son's shoes, Lassiter went in search of a blanket before realising there was one draped over the back of the couch. Mentally smacking himself he pulled it off and handed it wordlessly to Henry.

"Thanks," Henry said as he quickly covered his son with the blanket. "His jeans were pretty clammy too."

"No," Lassiter blatantly refused and he quickly turned around and headed towards the door.

"Do you want some coffee?" Henry called after the detective, deliberately waiting till the man had disappeared from the living room. A smile tugged at his lips as he heard Carlton's footsteps stop before retreating slowly back towards the living room.

Carlton sauntered back into the living room, stopping just inside the room as he leaned against the wall on his right. He took his sweet time checking the time on his watch before answering, "I'll have to call O'Hara, but coffee sounds good."

As Lassiter left again to go and call his partner, Henry let his eyes drift back down to the couch. Shawn was curled up as tightly in a ball as he was able and he had pulled the blanket up so far that only his hair was visible. It was true that he could already see that his son had a fever. The tremors running through his body, the glazed eyes and the slight flush to his skin were more than enough to confirm his suspicion. However, he was still shocked at the amount of heat radiating off the skin as he pressed a hand against Shawn's forehead, pushing his hair away in the process.

"What were you doing, Shawn?" Henry asked quietly even though he knew he wouldn't get an answer from his unconscious child.

Once Carlton had talked to O'Hara and assured her that he had not neglected Shawn anywhere but had brought him to his father's, he and Henry sat down in the kitchen, both placed so they could just see Shawn on the couch. Lassiter looked like coffee was long overdue and he gladly and almost eagerly accepted the cup Henry handed him.

"What's the case?" Henry asked once the younger man had had a chance to take a couple of sips from his coffee, already looking healthier than just five minutes prior.

"A body was found up in the mountains by a pair of tourists. Pretty gruesome," Carlton said in that tone that Henry recognised as one he had used himself when he was on the force. In order to keep distanced you had to look at everything objectively, and not think that you were looking at the aftermath of what one human being was willing to do to another.

Henry didn't grace Lassiter's words with an answer but instead nodded mutely and turned his attention to his own coffee.

"How's fishing lately?" Lassiter asked and if he thought he was inconspicuously changing the subject he should remember who he was talking to, but Henry let it slide.

"Been pretty good, but not the best," Henry answered, taking a moment to cast a glance into the living and watched as Shawn head moved further into the couch.

"He's pretty sick," Carlton commented, though his blue eyes was resting on Henry when he said this rather than looking towards the living room.

"I can see that," Henry responded quietly as he ran a hand over his head, missing the time when he actually had hair.

"I probably should have taken him to a hospital," Lassiter said vacantly as he now looked down at his nearly empty coffee mug.

"If Shawn didn't want to go it was probably easier just to bring him here," Henry replied as he stood up to pour the detective another coffee. It was true though; at least here Henry had a chance to make sure Shawn didn't bolt at the first chance he got. Not that he looked like he was capable of that anytime soon. "He'll be fine."

Lassiter nodded in thanks as Henry handed him back the mug.

* * *

Shawn felt horrible. No, he didn't just feel horrible, he felt like-I've-just-been-stabbed-and-then-run-over-by-a-train horrible. Oh yeah, _and_ he had a really, _really_ bad headache. He groaned loudly and attempted to roll onto his back when –

He yelped loudly as he was suddenly falling, landing on something painfully hard and of course he had to land face first, forcing the air out of his lungs in a long _whoosh_. This time he semi-whimpered, semi-groaned as he again attempted to roll onto his back. _Ow, ow, triple owie._

"Shawn?"

Please say that was not the voice he thought it was. He seriously did not need that right now while he was still trying to push himself onto his back, but his arms felt like jello. Very disobedient jello, which refused to listen or respond to even his slightest request. So not fair.

"Son, what are you doing on the floor?"

Ah, so that was where he was. That did beg the question of yes indeed, why was he on the floor?

He suddenly felt hands on his shoulders helping to roll him onto his back. He didn't know whether to groan in protest at the movement causing an orchestra consisting of only tambourines to start playing loudly _and _out of tune in his head. This was so not cool.

"Shawn, can you open your eyes for me?"

He wanted to respond with a negative but apparently his body was working evilly and cruelly against him. He sluggishly dropped a hand over his eyes to attempt to rub away the stickiness that had settled over them making it so much harder to open them. In the end he managed to force his eyes open a crack and peered up into a very blurry, but quite unmistakable face.

"Dad?" Shawn tried to force out between his lips, his throat now joining forces with his head to torture him as much as physically possible.

"Here," Dad was back, but before he had time to process anything of what might (or might not) be going on, he felt a hand behind his head, lifting it off the hard floor. That of course did aggravate his headache, but he found he didn't care when a bottle was pressed against his lips, allowing him to soothe part of the ache in his throat, so it at least was reduced very bad ow, instead of excruciating ow. When the bottle was taken away from him his dad spoke again, "Do you want to get back on the couch? The floor can't be very comfortable or warm."

Why did he have to mention anything warmth related? Of course that had to mean that he now felt cold. Very cold. Was he actually shivering? He cracked an eye open again, not aware of when he'd shut them, and tried to look around. Everything was still horribly blurry but the room was still unmistakably his dad's living room.

"Shawn," Dad said his name again, though this time it was more in the tone of 'pay attention' rather than the questionable tone from before.

Shawn shifted his gaze to somewhere in his dad's general direction. Oh yeah, Dad had actually asked if he wanted to get off the floor.

He sniffed before forcing his arms to cooperate. He was _almost_ sitting when his arms started to shake and he knew that this was going to hurt. After all, he had just taken this fall once already.

This time though a hand on his back steadied him before he crashed back on the floor, and at that point he didn't particularly care that it was Dad that was helping him, only that he wasn't about to fall.

"Can't I just stay on the floor?" Shawn whined, closing his eyes against the pain that had intensified in his head.

"I'll help you up," Dad's voice was so gentle that Shawn actually had to blink and look to the side to make sure that it was his father who was crouched down on the floor next to him, his hand still braced against Shawn's back.

Shawn nodded reluctantly, simultaneously wondering when he was going to learn that _any_ head movement resulted in pain. He whimpered rather pathetically as he was guided back onto the couch, his legs refusing to give any assistance, leaving him to rely mostly on his dad to do the work.

He let gravity take care of the rest as he started to drift sideways, knowing full well that this could very easily jar the pain in his head to a new level, but he could hardly do anything about it. It wasn't like _he _was the one who was control of what his body was doing. Definitely not lately anyway.

"Shawn, just try to sit up for a minute, okay?" Dad again. Since when did he turn into such a chatty Kathy?

"Ow," Shawn whimpered as Henry pushed him upright to lean against the back of the couch.

"When did you get sick?"

A hand was pressed against his forehead but he didn't have the energy to push it away. It felt…nice almost. He was pretty sure Dad had just asked him a question, but it seemed way too long and definitely too complicated to answer. Instead he settled on merely moving his head slightly to the side and mumbling something of semi-coherency.

"Son?"

Apparently Meany Old Papa wasn't satisfied.

"Wha'?" Shawn grumbled, bringing an arm up to fling across his face to block out any light that might try to break through his now closed lids and aggravate any of the misery he was in.

"How long have you been sick?"

"I don't know," he answered, barely noticing that his voice was slurring when something much, _much_ worse came to his realisation. "I…I gotta…"

"Shawn?"

He could taste the bile rising in his throat and he desperately tried to push off the couch, finding renewed energy sparked by his desire to reach the bathroom in time. That was before something was pushed into his hands, his father's voice sounding in his ear with the instruction to use whatever it was his hands were now holding.

He didn't really have a choice.

He didn't think it was possible to enter yet another circle of Hell, but he was clearly painfully mistaken. His throat felt about three thousand times worse after he'd just had a way too personal encounter with his spleen. Okay, it probably was not _that_ bad, but that didn't mean he wasn't hurting.

"Dad…" it was a whispered plea for the pain to be taken away, even though he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that there wasn't much his dad could do for him, but that didn't stop him from attempting.

"Drink this."

Again a bottle was pressed against his lips and he welcomed the water even more than previously, eager to get rid of the lingering taste of bile in his mouth. Once the bottle was removed from his mouth again he blinked his eyes open and stared blearily up at his father. When his vision was still too blurry for his liking a he brought a hand up to rub at his eyes finding that it finally helped, though he was slightly alarmed to find the wetness that appeared on his hand because of it.

"What happened?" Shawn asked, his voice weaker than he would have thought possible. He did not do weak. He was exuberant and funny and alive, he was not a limp weakling.

"Detective Lassiter brought you home," Henry replied, the couch dipping as he sat down next to Shawn. "He said you collapsed at a crime scene."

Shawn groaned, but this time it wasn't from the pain.

"Lassie still here?" He inquired, automatically shifting his gaze around the room as though expecting Lassiter to jump out from behind a dead fish with a shout of jubilation around the lines of, "Here I am!"

Of course, he didn't.

"No, he had to go back to the station," Dad said and Shawn could feel him staring at him.

"It's cold," Shawn mumbled, only now noticing that his dad seemed to think that hypothermia was a fun experience for him to have as he was missing his jeans.

"They were wet," Henry said offhandedly as he followed his son's gaze.

Apparently his dad did have a heart after all as picked up the blanket that had been discarded on the floor and handed it to him. Shawn clutched it to him after a moment of staring at in slight confusion as to what he was supposed to do with it. It would take _way_ too much effort to unfold the blanket.

"Open up."

"Hm?"

Shawn barely had time to turn to look at his father before a thermometer was shoved into his mouth to rest under his tongue.

"Da-ad," Shawn whined around the thermometer, then promptly had to take the it out of his mouth in order to cough. Under Henry's stern glare he reluctantly put it back in his mouth.

"Keep it there," Henry ordered as he rose from the couch and disappeared from the living room.

Shawn shifted his gaze forward to stare blankly at the black screen of the television. He sniffed again and jostled the thermometer slightly now that his dad couldn't see. It was a little harder to breathe without the benefit of his mouth, and he had to remove the thermometer in order to draw in a large gulp of air. His hands were shaking by the time he stuck the thermometer into his mouth once more, and he willingly let his head roll back against the couch.

He didn't hear his dad come back, only noticed his reappearance when the thermometer was removed from his mouth.

"102, it's definitely gone down," Henry mumbled as he rummaged around near the coffee table, Shawn not caring enough to attempt to lift his head. "Do you think you can stand up?"

Shawn shook his head mutely and very carefully and slowly from side to side. He didn't even want to try and move.

"Alright," Henry sighed and Shawn thought briefly that he sounded pretty exhausted. "At least lie down then."

"No," Shawn croaked.

"Shawn."

Shawn forced one eye open to peer at his dad. Another shiver ran through him.

"What?" If he had thought his dad sounded exhausted he needed a tape recorder to listen to himself. He sounded like he'd just been buried alive, then brought back to life but with all of the dirt still sticking around in his throat and lungs.

"Take these."

Shawn's gaze shifted to the hand that was now inches from his nose. Ooh drugs! He liked that idea. He liked it _very_ much. He greedily lifted a hand and promptly missed his dad's hand by about half a meter.

Henry sighed – again – and took a hold of his son's hand, pressing the pills into it. Not that it made it any easier to get his hand towards his face, but there was no way his dad was doing that for him too. The help with the water bottle was greatly appreciated though.

"You look like hell," Dad's voice sounded as though it came from quite far away as he started to tip his body to the side to lie down on the couch, bringing his legs up at the same as pulling at the blanket.

The blanket was pulled from his hands and he whined loudly in protest, but the noise was quickly halted when the blanket was draped over him with a lot less hassle than when he had attempted to do it himself. It seemed Dad had read his mind, because just as he was thinking that he was still cold, something heavier and warmer and somewhat familiar joined the blanket. He opened his eyes a crack to look at his old duvet lying over the blanket. He sighed in contentment and pulled both the blanket and duvet tighter around him.

"Get some sleep."

Dad's voice was soft and somewhat muffled. He felt a hand brush against his forehead before fingers stroked through his hair, but he found that he didn't mind so much. The steady, comforting motion helping to lull him to sleep.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So sorry about the long wait for an update especially after the awesome reviews you guys left! I hope this makes up for it. When I first set out to write this it was only supposed to be a two-shot...and now it won't stop. *sigh*

* * *

Shawn was still asleep by the time Henry opened his eyes, wincing at the pain shooting through his back, making him all too aware of the position in which he had slept. The chairs in his living room were definitely not designed to be used as a temporary bed. Henry bit back a groan as he slowly and carefully pushed himself out of the chair. He threw the chair a glare that could make grown men cry before his features softened into a look of concern as he shifted his gaze towards his son.

One foot was hanging over the side of the couch, while the rest of his son was still at least partially covered by the blanket and duvet. Shawn's face was pushed deeply into the pillow, and apart from the slight flush in his cheeks he looked shockingly similar in colour to the white material. There was a slight wheezing to his breath and every now and then his features would scrunch together in discomfort before softening out again.

Henry closed the distance between himself and Shawn and hesitantly rested his hand against his child's forehead. He frowned at the heat still radiating off the skin and noted the slightly clammy feel of Shawn's skin. He ran his hand through Shawn's hair, no longer wet from the rain but instead damp with sweat.

"Shawn," Henry said quietly as he crouched down on the floor next to Shawn's head. Shawn showed no response so he called his name again a little louder.

Shawn groaned as he tried to twist away from his voice, but the size of the couch made it hard for him to get very far, Henry actually having to steady him by the shoulders as he nearly toppled off the couch – again.

"Shawn," he repeated, giving his son's shoulder a light squeeze as well to try and draw him back to the land of the living. He was met with a feverish glance as Shawn cracked his eyes open and looked towards his father. Henry didn't know whether it was a good or a bad thing when he groaned again and closed his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

The question was dumb and he knew it. It was blatantly obvious how Shawn was feeling, but it was a natural reflex to ask when his son looked like that.

"Ugh."

"I suppose that pretty much sums it up," Henry answered as he fought off a smile. "I'm going to make some breakfast, okay?"

"No," Shawn mumbled hoarsely as a brief battle ensued between himself and the blankets. In the end he managed to draw both the blanket and the duvet all the way up to nearly cover his head.

Henry chuckled slightly as he stood back up and made his way to the kitchen where he started getting breakfast ready. After Shawn's brief spell of nausea the night before he was quite aware that he probably would not be able to handle too much right now. Some toast would probably do him better than eggs, sausages and bacon.

Just as he was about done with the breakfast he heard a tremendous _thud_ from the living room. Whatever he might have been holding relied on gravity to put them down the kitchen counter – or the floor – as Henry raced back into the other room.

"Shawn, just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

It was very hard to distinguish Shawn from the blanket and duvet as he tried to push himself up from the floor – again. At this rate Henry needed to put a security rail on the couch to make sure his son didn't fall off it.

"I was…I was rolling," Shawn said quietly and hoarsely as Henry helped him back up to sit on the couch.

"Yeah, don't," Henry scolded lightly as he looked his son over for any sign of injury.

"I didn't fall off on purpose," Shawn mumbled as he dragged a hand over his face, reminding Henry of how he looked when he was no more than ten years old.

"You don't feel so good, do you?" Henry stated the obvious.

Apparently Shawn didn't think the question neither deserved nor needed an answer because he merely gazed groggily up at his father before letting his eyes droop again.

"Don't fall asleep just yet," Henry said as he squeezed Shawn's shoulder gently. His son groaned loudly in response and attempted to bat his hand away but missed. "I'll bring you something so you don't have to get up, okay?"

"Tired," Shawn breathed heavily.

"I know," Henry sighed before moving quickly back to the kitchen hoping that it wasn't the breakfast that had ended up on the floor.

For once, fortune had been with him and the breakfast he'd made was sat on the kitchen table, so he quickly got a glass of juice for Shawn before retreating to the living room. Shawn was leaning heavily against the back of the couch, his eyes closed again. Henry put the plate with toast and the glass of juice on the coffee table and sat down on the couch next to Shawn.

As soon as he felt the couch dip Shawn's eyes fluttered open again.

"I wasn't sleeping," Shawn said, his voice slightly slurred both from the illness he was battling and fatigue.

"Sure you weren't," Henry replied offhandedly. He pointed towards the table before saying unnecessarily, "Breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," Shawn croaked. He was clearly dissatisfied with the weak sound of his own voice because he tried to clear his throat though Henry doubted it would make any difference.

"Tough."

Never one to shy away from the harder approaches to parenting, Henry picked up the plate and held it out in front of him to Shawn, who glared at the toast as though it was the spawn of all evil.

"Dad."

Henry had expected a whine. It would have been customary by this point, so the quiet plea took him by surprise. He turned his head to take a good look at his son, his body slumped against the back cushions, his head hanging low as though keeping it up would require too much energy.

"Would you at least drink the juice?" Henry asked, putting the plate back on the table, admitting defeat for the moment but quite aware that he was going to try to coax Shawn into eating again pretty soon.

Shawn sighed dramatically and looked at his dad with a pout knowing full well it wouldn't get him anywhere – it never had.

"How long have you been sick?" Henry ignored Shawn's antics and instead handed him the glass of juice, which Shawn accepted warily with a sceptical look on his face.

Shawn shrugged as he peered down into the juice before bringing the glass to his lips, and Henry pretended not to notice how his hands shook slightly from that small task. Shawn had barely had a chance to swallow his sip of juice before Henry had to rescue glass from flying to the floor and spilling juice all over the carpet as Shawn doubled over, his body shaking from wracking coughs.

"Easy, easy," Henry said soothingly as he rubbed a hand over Shawn's back.

Shawn pressed the heels of both of his hands into his eyes, no doubt in an effort to stop the tears from falling that had sprung to his eyes partly due to the coughing. Henry kept his hand resting on his son's back, his brow furrowing together in worry at the continuing wheeze accompanying Shawn's breaths.

"Shawn?" Henry said gently and waited till Shawn turned his head a fraction in his direction to show that he was listening before repeating his earlier question, "How long have you been sick?"

"I don't know," Shawn whispered, his voice so small that Henry had to lean in a bit to hear him. "I haven't been _this_ bad."

Henry didn't know if that was meant to assure him, but it didn't. Shawn looked and sounded utterly exhausted. He was conflicted about whether bringing Shawn to the hospital would be a good idea. Carlton had for some strange and unknown reason decided not to take Shawn to the hospital after he collapsed at the crime scene. From what Henry knew, it wasn't normal for the detective to do exactly what Shawn wanted.

Lassiter had stayed as long as he could the night before, leaving with the fleeting words that he would be in touch. Carlton was a good detective, he never would have made Head Detective at such a young age if he was not, but he had not been able to hide a look that could quite possibly be interpreted as worry when he had looked towards the living room prior to brushing out of the kitchen and back out into the rain.

Thinking of staying in touch it would probably be in his best interests to contact Gus to update him on Shawn's condition. Gus would not be a happy man if he had to sit and wait in the office for someone who wasn't going to show, Henry knew that much about the young man.

But first things first.

"Open your mouth," Henry ordered, thermometer grasped firmly in his hand. Shawn raised his head a tiny bit to peer at the thermometer.

"Not again," Shawn sighed in defeat and reached out a hand to take the thermometer from his father's.

"I want you to drink the juice and eat some of that toast," Henry said sternly as he rose from the couch.

"Wif 'he…" Shawn's voice broke off and he instead gave up trying to talk around the thermometer and instead opted for pointing at it while looking up at his father with a confused expression.

"After," Henry sighed, and Shawn started to nod but quickly stopped again, instead bringing a hand up to rest against his forehead.

Once he'd reclaimed the thermometer Henry wasn't particularly pleased to note that Shawn's fever had not changed dramatically. In fact it had increased a tiny bit; not enough for a hospital to be an imperative, but Henry didn't like a change in that direction, no matter how little.

"Eat," Henry said pointedly and didn't move until Shawn had dragged a hand reluctantly towards the toast.

Henry nodded before leaving his son alone for a moment to clean the thermometer as well as call his son's best friend.

* * *

When Shawn awoke the next time it was to a feeling of relief as Thor had stopped throwing Mjolnir around in his head. He sighed contentedly, though the sense of fatigue that had recently overtaken him was still strongly present.

"How's he doing?"

Wait a minute.

He was quite certain he knew that voice. It was unmistakeable after over twenty-five years of friendship.

"Not too good."

Still at his father's house then considering who _that_ voice belonged to.

"I think he's waking up."

Gus's voice was closer now and he heard footsteps drawing closer to him. He really didn't want to be awake right now. Last time he'd woken his dad had evilly and skilfully coached him into eating a piece of toast and drinking a glass of juice, while paying no attention to his adamant refusals. True, Dad had given him more drugs as promised which he supposed had helped to draw him back to sleep.

Shawn cracked an eye open to find Gus's face hovering mere inches above his own as though he was an interesting specimen from outer space.

"Dude, too close," Shawn murmured, though he didn't attempt his strength at pushing Gus away, having already been made painfully aware on numerous occasions that his limbs were like lead, or something equally heavy.

"What the heck were you thinking, Shawn?" Gus had perfected the art of shouting while keeping his voice at a whisper. He had – thankfully – drawn back to allow Shawn some space to attempt to push himself upright. So far it wasn't going particularly well, but this was mostly caused by the blanket and duvet conspiring against him by folding around him so tightly that he felt like he was shut in an envelope.

"I was thinking…" Shawn's vividly exciting story was ruined by the arrival of a cough that stole all the air from his lungs. It wasn't until he felt hands bracing against his shoulders that he realised that he'd forgotten to breathe and was instead hanging over the side of couch, gasping like a dying fish.

"You okay?" Gus asked quietly, concern evident in his voice.

"I'm good."

He had always been exceptionally good at lying but he wasn't sure he was able to pull it off at the moment. There was no way Gus would believe him, unless he looked _way_ better than he felt which he seriously doubted.

"You're an idiot, Shawn," Gus said distractedly as he helped pull Shawn up and sit him back against the couch in a more comfortable position.

"I try," Shawn said vacantly, most of his attention on the fact that he had to keep drawing air into his lungs, though each intake of breath slowly started to increase the pounding in his head.

"I told you to go straight home yesterday," Gus was angry – worried – that much was painfully clear, but whenever his friend started to tell him off Shawn had perfected the art of remaining indifferent. Gus telling him off had grown into nothing more than customary background noise.

"What happened yesterday?" Henry had apparently been sneakily hiding in the kitchen, emerging now with a glass of water in hand.

"He wasn't feeling well. At all," Gus added, making sure to add just the right amount of weight to his words to show their significance, as well as fixing Shawn with a pointed look.

"I was fine," Shawn defended himself weakly, though he wasn't sure whether throwing his hand into the air only to have it flop down uselessly by his side helped his cause or not.

"Clearly," Dad retorted, holding the glass of water out towards him. "Drink."

It was a stern order and one he knew well enough not to disobey. The fact that he really didn't want to pour anything down his aching throat was undoubtedly not an issue for his father. Shawn reluctantly reached out a hand towards the glass, closing his fingers around the cool surface.

As he'd previously predicted it was not a nice sensation swallowing the clear liquid and he winced as it passed over the ragged tissue of his throat. He swallowed hard determined not to act on the nausea that was again trying to claim him as its victim.

"I thought I was okay," he breathed out once he had the nausea somewhat under control and his dad had reclaimed the glass and put it on the table.

"Dude," Gus sighed exasperatedly, "you were clearly already running a fever when I left."

"You left him when he was already pretty bad?" Dad asked Gus, and Shawn sighed deeply, bringing his hands up to knead through his hair.

"He told me he was going to call you," Gus defended himself weakly and Shawn didn't even have to look up to know that he was flustered, nor to know that Dad was currently giving his best friend a _look_ that clearly said that Gus should have known better. He was proven right – somewhat – by Gus's next words, repeated from earlier, but now with an utmost sincerity, "You're an idiot, Shawn."

"Thanks, man," Shawn agreed quietly, distractedly bringing the glass back to his lips, realising the action only when the water was sliding down his throat with a strong repeat of his earlier discomfort. He made a low whine of discomfort, for once not for the attention it very well could earn him.

"You okay, kid?"

His dad didn't sound angry anymore, maybe still slightly frustrated, but more concerned, something Shawn had not experienced many times in his life.

"No," Shawn admitted softly, finally remembering that too vigorous head movements resulted in pain.

"I'll check if I have anything that could help," Gus said hurriedly, squeezing Shawn's shoulder briefly before walking out of the room.

Silence settled between father and son, Shawn accepted it, almost appreciated it. Though his pain in general had been slightly more bearable this time round, the pounding in his head was slowly making a reappearance as well as his whole body feeling shaky, cold and pathetically weak.

Oh no…

He was pushing himself off the couch with more strength he knew he possessed at this moment in time in two seconds flat, and raced towards the bathroom, forcing his legs to cooperate. He fell to his knees and they hit the tiled floor hard, but he wasn't aware of any pain gained as he was already painfully loosing what little food his father had managed to force into him earlier.

By the time his stomach had finished its rebellion – this time round – his whole body was shaking and he slumped to the floor in defeat. Being this sick officially sucked.

"Alright, son," apparently his dad arrived at some point but he didn't notice till he spoke quietly right next to his ear and that was rather unsettling too, "let's get you off the floor."

Shawn let out a noise of protest when Henry started hoisting him off the floor. At least when he'd been lying on the floor in the bathroom, _completely_ still, nothing had hurt quite as bad. Being in the bathroom also had the convenience of having the toilet close by just in case nausea decided to rear its ugly head for a third time.

"You can't stay on the floor, Shawn," Henry reprimanded as he continued to haul him back towards the living.

He really did want to respond with something snarky, smart or witty, but he was painfully interrupted in his first breath of attempt by a violent onslaught of coughs that had him wondering if maybe someone would just dig his lungs out now and save him the hard work.

"Easy, son, just take it easy."

What did his dad think he was trying to do? Run a marathon? It wasn't until then that he noticed that the only thing holding him up was his father's arms around his waist keeping him from toppling face first onto the floor.

"Mmm…don't feel too good," Shawn forced out between two deep breaths as he tried to get his body back under his control. So far that wasn't working for him very well.

"Do you want the couch or your bed?" Henry's question seemed innocent enough but the very thought of attempting to conquer the stairs had the nausea returning full force.

"Couch," Shawn said definitely, desperately hoping his tone clued his father in on the fact that no arguments would be greatly appreciated.

Henry grunted in affirmative (or negative, Shawn was never quite sure what his father's grunts meant no matter how hard he tried to figure them out) and continued to drag him towards the living room.

He was breathing fast, his body shaking with fever and fatigue as Henry lowered him as gently and carefully as possible back onto the couch. Shawn felt around for the duvet that he'd discarded in his manic run for the bathroom, grateful when his fingers finally closed around the material. He lay down, pulling the duvet close around him as he willed for his body to stop shaking.

"What happened?"

Apparently Gus had returned now and if he's shocked tone was anything to go by then Shawn looked a lot worse than when he's left.

"'M 'kay," Shawn murmured, loosely forming a fist with the hand still above the covers and lifted it in the direction he thought his friend to be in.

"I'm not fist bumping you for being sick, Shawn," Gus stated, his tone bridging no arguments. Not that Shawn even had the energy to try arguing right now.

His hand fell back on top of the covers and his fingers curled tightly into the fabric as another bout of coughs tore through him.

"Ugh…what?...No…" Shawn protested to the best of his current abilities against his father's hand that was raising his head away from the pillow it had been semi-comfortably resting on moments before.

"You need to drink something, kid," Henry tried to reason, but otherwise ignored his son's protests and promptly brought the glass back to the Shawn's lips.

"Your dad's right," Gus said in that tone that he used when he wanted to either impress someone or be sure he didn't get in trouble.

"You're ganging up on a dying man," Shawn questioned once his father was finally satisfied and had released him.

"You're no dying, Shawn," Henry sighed and even with his eyes closed Shawn knew that he was running a hand over face.

"Feels like it," Shawn mumbled, tightening his fingers around the covers again when another stab of pain shot through his head sharper than it had this time round of being awake. "Can I sleep now or do you have anything else planned?"

"Yeah, you can sleep now," Henry chuckled, though Gus was clearly not amused as Shawn heard a distinct huff of annoyance from his best friend.

"I've left some samples in the kitchen," Gus's voice sounded further away now and when he tried to listen he realised that both his dad and his friend had retreated back towards the kitchen.

The urge to sleep was pulling him under faster than any medication would have been able. He was relishing in the light floating feeling which was helping to blur out all of his aches and pains. It made him sound old just thinking that.

A knock on the door pulled him out of the darkness just as he was starting to drift. Almost out of instinct his eyes flew open only to regret it a moment later as light stabbed him in the eye. Clearly his dad and Gus had tried their best to shut out the sun and dim out all the light but one can only do so much. He groaned and instead closed his eyes again, choosing to listen to what was going on in the kitchen as he once more tried to fall asleep with high hopes of feeling completely like his old self the next time he woke.

"Lassiter? What are you doing here?" Unmistakeably Gus. He sounded a little bit confused but Shawn couldn't blame him. Even in his slightly delirious state he was confused too. Wait, that _really_ didn't make sense.

"We have a problem," the detective said around a sigh. Poor old Lassie; he really didn't sound very happy to be in a Spencer's home.

"What do you mean?" Dad had apparently decided to join the party now, but for once Shawn was relatively happy he was temporarily unavailable as dealing with Gus, Dad and Lassie all at once in his current condition would be a very cruel task.

"The crime scene where Spencer collapsed," there was a pause and Shawn imagined his father and friend obediently, or possibly impatiently, nodding in agreement, "they've found another body."

Shawn groaned. There was only one reason why Lassiter would actually tell them that. Usually he would happily go chasing around after serial killers, but _not right now, damn it_! He was tired and his head hurt and _everything_ hurt. Playing psychic was not his top priority right now. At least by falling asleep quickly Lassiter would have to wait, which would frustrate the man to no end. Shawn smirked but immediately stopped when even that small action sent a small _ping_ of pain through his head.

Being sick seriously sucked.

* * *

Aaaaand there you have it. Hope you liked! :)

More to come...I hope...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: A HUGE thank you to all who have reviewed! You guys are awesome! Virtual pineapples to you all!

* * *

The dull light of the late afternoon sun was filtering in through the partially closed curtains, barely illuminating the living room. There was an annoyingly chipper bird just outside the window that continued to make its presence known at the most inconvenient times. Every time it chirped he cast a glance towards the window wondering if he would be justified in shooting the damned thing.

Lassiter tore his gaze away from the window again, having a vague suspicion that the Chief would not look lightly upon him shooting birds. However, looking away from the window was not helping him overcome his urge to shoot something or rather _someone _else. Why had he agreed to this in the first place? Guster had apparently needed to return to work and Henry Spencer had to go grocery shopping of all things. They hadn't wanted Spencer to be left alone, and while Lassiter could see their reasoning behind this, he was less clear on how exactly he had been nominated as babysitter.

He glanced reluctantly at his restlessly sleeping charge, noting how he didn't look that much better after twenty-four hours. At least Henry had said he'd been more lucid than what Lassiter had experienced in the car. Lassiter had no doubt that if the father had experienced that ride he would have insisted Shawn be taken to a hospital no matter how much he protested.

Running a hand through his hair he shifted his gaze to the files he'd spread out over the coffee table, illuminated by a single lamp beside it. He had called the Chief in the hopes that she would order him back to the station but she'd been eerily supportive of him staying in Henry Spencer's home. She'd pointed out that he did have the files with him anyway, so he could just as well look at them there as he could at the station. Carlton had been thoroughly tempted to disagree before he reminded himself that it was the Chief of police he was talking to.

He pulled the crime scene photos closer towards him, suppressing a wince at the brutality they displayed. The second body they'd found was a woman in much the same state as first body. Time of death had been put in the same time frame for both victims, but Lassiter didn't doubt that the two crimes were related and almost definitely committed by the same person. Their perpetrator was a particular peace of scum that Carlton would very much like to get off the streets of Santa Barbara as soon as possible. He'd left O'Hara at the station, but now he was seriously regretting it. She'd wanted to come of course, to see for herself how Spencer was doing, but she'd been working hard herself and the Chief had asked her to stay and continue with what she was doing. Lassiter didn't doubt that his partner would be sent home to get some sleep pretty soon as well. She didn't get much sleep the night before what with another body popping up and all.

Both victims had been in their mid-fifties, but that was disappointingly and pathetically all that had been gathered. Carlton sighed and rubbed both his hands over his face. It wasn't just his partner who had gone too long without sleep, but resting could come later. He wasn't going to waste time catching this guy, not after what he'd shown he was capable of doing.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed towards the kitchen, coffee cup in hand as a refill was required by now. Just as he was walking past the couch Spencer's breath hitched, and if Lassiter didn't know better he would say the younger man had done it on purpose. With a reluctant sigh he turned around and walked back to the coffee table, setting aside the mug and looked at Spencer.

Damn him for looking so much like a kid. It was very hard not to feel like he was kicking a puppy if he even considered having the urge to shoot the man. Spencer was starting to thrash around, his legs getting coiled in the blankets. His head was moving from side to side on the pillow and he was starting to mutter to himself, but his words were slurring so badly that Lassiter had no idea what he was trying to say.

"Spencer," Lassiter said, keeping his tone even as he took another step towards the couch.

His voice had no effect on the consultant. Lassiter glared at him, briefly wondering if this was another one of Spencer's jokes even though he knew that it wasn't. Why had he agreed to this? And, yes, he'd asked himself that numerous times before, but he still wasn't sure. At all.

"Spencer," he repeated a bit more urgently this time as Shawn's breath hitched and a sound that sounded suspiciously like sob escaped his lips, though Lassiter was going to pretend it was a laugh because he was _not_ dealing with a crying Spencer as well.

He was sweating. Lassiter could see it glistening on his forehead, clinging to his hair as Spencer continued to thrash around in his attempts to throw off his fever demons. Vowing that somebody was going to pay, Lassiter took a firm hold of Shawn's shoulders, keeping him from falling off the couch and halting his movements. He repeated the kid's name again as well as squeezing both shoulders – hard – and finally he got the desired response.

Shawn jerked upright, nearly knocking into Lassiter's head, though the detective somehow managed to get out of the way in time.

"Take it easy, Spencer," Lassiter said as he absentmindedly rubbed his hands on his jacket.

Spencer was drawing in his breaths unevenly, though he was clearly trying to calm down. Finally he turned his head to squint up at Lassiter, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Lassie?"

Of course he had to sound as pathetically vulnerable as he looked, making Carlton look even meaner if he were to snap, growl or shout at the kid.

"Yeah," Carlton forced out instead of any of the less pleasant responses he had lying on the tip of his tongue.

"What are you…?" His voice faded and he seemed to be searching for the right words, but he didn't continue, instead bringing a hand up against his forehead, his jaw tightening as he suppressed a moan of pain. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he'd wanted to know though.

"What am I doing here?" Lassiter said questionably, looking at the younger man for confirmation and upon receiving a brief nod he continued, "I've been asking myself that question quite a few times."

Heaving in a shaky breath, Spencer kept his hand against his head, shielding his face from Lassiter. Carlton took in the noticeable shakes running through the other man's body and his brow furrowed in slight concern.

"Where's my dad?" The question reminded Carlton most of a five year old kid who'd got lost in the mall. The tone wasn't far off either, making the detective heave a sigh as he lowered his weight to sit uncomfortably on the coffee table.

"He had to buy some groceries," Lassiter informed him, "he'll be back soon."

"How long are you staying?" Spencer asked, his voice quiet but with a distinct higher pitch.

"'Till he comes back," Lassiter answered, eyeing Spencer. "Do you want anything for that headache?"

"I'm fine," Spencer ground out between clenched teeth. He must be more of an idiot than Lassiter already thought if he truly believed that Lassiter hadn't noticed how much pain he was obviously in.

"I'll get you something, just sit tight," Lassiter said as he gratefully pushed himself up from the coffee table which he concluded had definitely not been made to be used as a substitute for a chair.

"I said I'm fine," Shawn snapped, his tone stopping Lassiter on his journey towards the kitchen. The detective had never heard the younger man sound like that before. Lassiter turned around slowly and walked with calculated steps back towards the couch, stopping in front of it to look down at Spencer. He'd removed his hand from his face allowing Lassiter a clear view of the bloodshot eyes as well as the pale but flushed skin.

"Yeah, you really look it," Lassiter said sarcastically with a roll of the eyes, already starting to turn his back on Shawn again.

"Is this a joke to you?" Spencer's voice cracked slightly causing Lassiter to turn back to the couch.

"Excuse me?" He kept his voice low, just like when he was interrogating a highly dangerous criminal who also may or may not be clinically insane.

Spencer lowered his gaze, his jaw grinding against his teeth, his fingers clawing at the duvet. Lassiter watched him, unsure what to make of this different side to Shawn. He looked like a kid – vulnerable above all is, and Lassiter now desperately wished that Henry had chosen a different time to go grocery shopping.

Nodding once, Lassiter swiftly left the living room, to roam around the kitchen instead, quickly spotting the samples on the counter that Guster had left behind for his friend. It didn't take him nearly as long as he'd liked to locate a glass and fill it with water. He cast a glance into the living room, seeing Spencer now doubled over on the couch, his head held tightly in his hands. It would be incredibly easy to outwit and ridicule the man when he was in this condition, but Lassiter found he couldn't. There would be no sense of victory in such a sparring as his opponent would never be able to fight back.

Lassiter hung back, not wanting to go back into the room and its occupant. He cast a glance around the kitchen and snatched the samples off the counter, drawing in a deep breath before turning around to face the living room. A voiceover with the words "_Prepare for doom_"was sorely needed right now.

He walked back into the other room, not deliberately making his steps quiet, though somehow his shoes hardly made any noise against the floor. Spencer had had the chance to sit on the couch now with his back against the back of it, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was breathing hard, almost as if he was out of breath, his shaking hands clutching the blanket and duvet tightly.

Lassiter wordless held the glass out towards him. Spencer looked at the glass with a similar expression as when they'd been in the car and Lassiter had handed him his jacket.

"Drink," Carlton ordered, refusing to go into elaborate details about this task.

Spencer merely shook his head mutely as his eyes fell shut. This was actually worse than Lassiter had feared.

"Spencer, your father will kill me if he comes home to find you died of dehydration," Lassiter said in one breath.

Shawn raised his head slightly and opened one eye to peer up at Lassiter. He opened the other eye as well and shifted his gaze to the glass.

"I'll get sick," Shawn mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

"I hate to break this to you, Spencer, but you're already sick," Lassiter said, holding the glass out towards the younger man a bit more sternly.

Spencer opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly trying to find the words to explain what he was saying. Lassiter knew perfectly well what he meant. Henry had already warned him that the younger man had thrown up a couple of times. This had been another reason why he didn't want to stay.

The detective raised his eyebrows at Shawn, daring him to refuse the water again. For a moment Lassiter thought he was going to reject again, but apparently the man did possess an inkling of common sense as he reached towards the glass _very_ slowly. He nearly looked green just thinking about drinking anything. Lassiter _almost_ felt sorry for him. Almost. It was still Spencer after all.

"How high's your temperature?" Lassiter asked curiously after Shawn had taken a sip of the water.

"How should I know?" Shawn inquired quietly as Lassiter handed him the drugs. He stared at them for a while, looking at Lassiter almost for confirmation that he did have to take them. It seemed he understood what he was supposed to do as he quickly popped the pills in his mouth, washing them down with the water.

"Have you eaten anything?" Lassiter questioned. Spencer glared at him. He'd take that as a no. He gathered that the nausea had most likely suffocated any appetite he might have had, though he would have to eat something pretty soon or he would get worse from the pills instead of better.

Spencer was incredibly stubborn even in his weakened state – though, this was hardly surprising considering the man's usual nature. He was leaning forward on the couch trying to get the glass back on the table without moving too much. It was becoming increasingly clear that he was not going to ask for help even when he needed it the most.

Before Shawn managed to topple forwards and off the couch, Lassiter wrenched the glass free from his grasp with very little difficulty and set it on the table. Spencer lowered his head again and it was beginning to dawn on Lassiter that, if possible, Spencer was even more uncomfortable with this situation than he was.

Remembering that he'd been about to refill his coffee earlier made for a very plausible excuse to make a hasty retreat back to the safety of the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, purposely doing so in an angle that made it impossible to see the living room unless he craned his neck backwards which he had no intention of doing.

He swirled the coffee around in the cup, looking into the murky depths of the liquid. He felt a lot more exhausted now than he had when he'd arrived. Who knew that a sick Spencer could be even more trying on his nerves than a _regular_ Spencer – normal was most certainly the wrong word to use.

He lifted his head as a sudden realisation occurred to him. He'd had the files and crime scene photos spread out over the coffee table. He'd left Spencer alone with the files. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair before swiftly lifting his mug from where he'd put it on the counter and hurried back to the living room. True, the Chief had asked that Spencer looked over the files if he was up to it, but it was simple instinct by now for Lassiter to deny the consultant a case every time he was able.

To his surprise Spencer wasn't hastily putting the files back on the table to pretend he'd never touched them, nor was he holding them in his hands and reading them through without a care in the world if anyone caught him. This was most definitely unusual and anything that was out of place always made Lassiter wary.

He approached the couch cautiously, with a glance taking note that nothing seemed out of place on the table. He could have smacked himself when he finally did look at the couch.

Spencer wasn't there.

How he could have missed this vital detail in the first place was beyond him and he was ready to take on three extra shifts at least to make up for that embarrassment. He looked around the living room but saw no sign of the younger man. Setting the mug on the table, his brow furrowed and he walked back into the kitchen, looking around briefly, though he wasn't sure about the reason why as Spencer was most definitely not there.

Walking back to the living room he cast a glance up the stairs but he didn't believe that Shawn would have been able to climb to the top of them that fast in his current condition. A brief breeze caught his attention as it caressed his face with its cool fingers. No way was Spencer that much of an idiot.

As it turned out, he was.

Lassiter pushed open the door leading to the porch to find Spencer sitting in one of the chairs, the duvet curled rightly around him as he stared off into the distance.

"In the house," Lassiter growled as he glared down at the younger man. "Now."

To make himself even clearer just in case Shawn should have somehow misunderstood, he pointed forcefully at the house. Spencer's gaze shifted to nearly meet his, stopping short.

"I just wanted some air," Spencer croaked as though he thought that was a reasonable explanation.

"I don't care if you wanted to meet Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny," Lassiter said slowly, "I want you back in that house or your father will flay me alive if he comes home to find you sitting outside like a gawking idiot."

"I'm sorry," Spencer said apologetically making Carlton do a double take, momentarily loosing the threatening glare, "but I hate to break this to you, Lassie. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny aren't real."

Carlton actually growled this time, not caring how weak or vulnerable Spencer was as he took one step forward to fist his hand tightly in the back of the younger man's t-shirt, hauling him to his feet. As Spencer held on tightly to the duvet he nearly tripped over it, Lassiter keeping him somewhat upright with his grip around the shirt.

"Ow," Shawn whimpered in pain as nearly banged into the doorframe leading back into the house, but Lassiter ignored him and continued to force him through.

He led – or dragged whichever word was most preferred – Spencer back to the couch and pushed him down, Shawn just catching himself before he toppled to the floor instead.

"And stay there," Lassiter warned, keeping his voice just before a growl.

Spencer didn't answer but instead brought a fist up against his no doubt aching head. Lassiter's treatment had probably done anything to aid relieve any aches or pains.

"Could you just leave?" Shawn asked the question so quietly that Lassiter momentarily wondered if he was meant to hear it all. Spencer pushed himself up from the couch, wavering slightly but he managed to steady himself. He met Lassiter's gaze and must have realized that he had to come up with an explanation before he thought he could just leave. Spencer lowered his gaze, a muffled, "Bathroom," just audible as he shuffled past.

Carlton let him go. He sure as hell wasn't going to follow. He'd left the duvet behind this time so Lassiter doubted he was planning on going outside again. At least he'd had enough sense to bring the duvet with him on his little quest to the outdoors. The idiot. Sure it was still Santa Barbara and they weren't exactly known for cold temperatures, but the rainfall the day before seemed to had brought with it colder temperatures than what they normally had, making it surprisingly chilly outside.

With a huff Lassiter slumped down into the chair he'd previously occupied, quickly grabbing his mug again to take a much needed sip of the coffee. Of course it had cooled down. He looked towards the two files still lying in their rightful place on the table. He wasn't getting nearly as much work done as he'd planned. With a sigh he leaned forward to lean over the files, the light behind him illuminating them dully, darkening the rest of the room as he focused solely on the files and crime scene photos.

He heard Shawn before he saw him, his sock covered feet padding softly across the floor. There was a slight irregularity to his steps as though he had to pause every now or then. It wouldn't be a wonder to Lassiter if he had to use the wall on occasion to help regain his balance. Eventually Spencer entered the living room and Lassiter looked up from the files to see him shuffle towards the couch, one hand firmly glued to his forehead as though he was afraid it was going to fall off if he didn't. He groaned as he dropped down on the couch, having to tuck the blanket and duvet out from underneath him. He lay back down on the couch and Lassiter's eyes narrowed at the obvious rapid breathing Spencer was displaying, almost gasping for air.

"Spencer," Lassiter said, trying to sound calm after his previous loss of patience, "are you breathing okay?"

"In and out, Lassie," Shawn murmured as he pulled the blankets closer around himself.

"Any chest pain?" Lassiter inquired forcing Shawn to open his drooping eyelids again.

"I'm ill," Shawn retorted almost desperately, "what do you think?"

There was certainly no need to get snippy, but Lassiter put his outbursts down to the fact that he was, indeed, ill.

"Alright, Spencer," Lassiter looked back down at the files, waiting for something obvious to stand out that would work as a perfect excuse to bolt from Henry Spencer's home.

"When are you leaving?" Spencer asked, drawing Lassiter's attention away from the files again. Damn him.

"I told you already," Lassiter said gruffly, "Not until your dad's back."

Spencer groaned loudly, his hand landing with a _smack_ against his face. Lassiter looked at him disapprovingly before turning back to his files. He was finding it harder to concentrate, Spencer lying just a few feet away from him a visual reminder of what the Chief had told him. He could always pretend that Spencer had been utterly delirious but he already knew that she would see right through him.

"Spencer," he said again with a reluctant sigh.

"What?" His voice was muffled and he sounded slightly groggy. Lassiter looked up to see his back was turned which certainly explained the muffled voice as his face would have to be almost plastered against the back of the couch.

"Take a look at these," Lassiter waited for Spencer to slowly roll back onto his back before collecting the crime scene photos and passing them to him one by one. He took them hesitantly, almost reluctantly. "They found another body close to the scene where you collapsed." Spencer's face remained expressionless as he shifted through the pictures, both from the first crime scene and from the second. "A man at the first scene, a woman at the second, both in their mid-fifties…"

"They were married," Spencer suddenly rasped.

"What?" Lassiter said immediately, wondering if maybe his previous conclusion that Spencer was not delirious was incorrect. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Shawn sighed and turned one picture so Lassiter could see. It was a close-up shot of the woman's left arm and hand. He shifted his gaze to where Spencer was tapping his finger against the photograph, but saw nothing besides the obvious gore.

"It's an arm."

"I know it's an arm," Spencer retorted, "I don't care about the arm. Look at her fingers."

Lassiter looked closer, in the end snatching the photo from Spencer's grasp to bring it further under the light. There. What was it with Spencer and tanning lines?

"And?" Lassiter said looking up at Spencer expectantly.

"And…" Spencer drawled, passing him a similarly posed photograph, this time of the man. It produced equivalent results.

"That doesn't mean they're married," Lassiter said waiting somewhat patiently for Spencer's response as the man was currently busy trying to bury himself in the blankets.

"No, I'm sure it's just a coincidence," Spencer said sardonically when he was finally satisfied with his position on the couch.

"No psychic vision?" Lassiter returned.

"Lassie, how do you think I knew to look at their hands?" Spencer questioned rhetorically, "Keep up now."

Lassiter ground his teeth together to keep himself from inflicting greater pain on Spencer than he was already experiencing.

"Never mind," he finally managed to ground out, seizing the remaining photographs from Spencer before he crumpled them.

"When's my dad coming back?"

"I don't now."

Lassiter took another gulp from his coffee, nearly spitting it back into the cup when he realised how cold it was. He made a face at the now rather horrible taste, glaring at the remaining coffee as though it had committed the ultimate act of betrayal. He pushed the offending mug aside and instead bent over the crime scene photos and the pathetically thin files.

"Why would he carve them up like that?" Spencer's voice drew his head up again, his brows scrunching together as he realised what he'd just asked.

"Because he's a psycho?" Lassiter suggested, not for the first time worrying for not only Spencer's sanity but also his own.

"It's more than that," Spencer mumbled, his head resting against the pillows, his eyes closed. Lassiter had no idea how this was his topic of choice to lull him to sleep.

"Just go to sleep, Spencer," Lassiter all but begged.

Spencer coughed loudly, forcing his body to roll away from its comfortable position. Finally, he stopped, leaving his body draped over the side of the couch as his lungs heaved for air. He groaned loudly as he pushed himself back to lie flat on the couch.

"He really didn't want these people to walk again," Spencer said as though he'd not just hacked up a lung, even though his voice was even more strained than before. "I mean, it's not just one fatal wound for both. Look at them."

"I have," Lassiter grumbled. "Many times."

"Good, then we agree," Spencer rasped.

Lassiter closed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before looking at Shawn again.

"Go to sleep, Spencer. Now."

* * *

Hoped you enjoyed. :)

As always feedback is greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I'm loving writing this story, so I hope you'll enjoy this part as well...

* * *

To say that both Shawn and Lassiter were alive by the time Henry came back home was a surprise, would be gravely understated. Henry had honestly believed that the detective would have left or that he would have found one of the two men – it still didn't feel right to call his son a 'man' though – at least somewhat incapacitated. As it happened Shawn was sleeping and Carlton was reading through the police files he'd brought with him, although he did look extraordinarily relieved when he caught sight of Henry.

"I'll just be going then," Carlton said as he swiftly stood up, his long legs almost getting tangled in his hurry to get out of the house.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" Henry asked, trying to keep the amusement from showing on his face.

The detective was torn. It was clear that he didn't know if it would be impolite to turn away dinner, and while he may be hungry it meant that he would have to stay in the house he was so desperately trying to leave.

"Well, I…" Lassiter's voice faded as he took a tentative step backwards towards the door, clearly hoping that Henry hadn't noticed.

"I've got steaks," Henry lured, finding it harder to keep the smirk off his face when the other man looked positively frantic. He was a good detective, making his face that much harder to read, though Henry didn't doubt for one second that he would indeed like a home cooked meal. Unfortunately said meal came with the price of staying in a Spencer's household, which clearly was a downside for Lassiter. "Come on," Henry finally continued, "I've got two steaks here and Shawn sure as hell can't have one of them at the moment."

Lassiter finally relented. He didn't look particularly happy about his decision as he walked with heavy steps back into the kitchen, his eyes diverted from the living room. As Henry started unpacking the bags from his trip to the mall, he noticed Carlton put the files on the kitchen table, putting his hands on the wooden surface and leaning down heavily.

"Tough case?" Henry said questionably as he started to prepare the steaks, purposefully keeping his tone disinterested.

"Yeah."

Carlton needn't say more as being a cop himself Henry knew how tough it could get. He remembered what the detective had told him the night before when he'd brought Shawn home and that he'd already looked anxious about the case. A second body was never welcomed and certainly didn't bring the detectives working the case any closer to finding peace.

They didn't talk much after that, Lassiter choosing to look through the files as Henry prepared dinner. Conversation was stunted during dinner and it didn't take a genius to see that Lassiter was exhausted.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble," Henry said with a nod towards the living room.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Lassiter answered offhandedly and Henry couldn't help but chuckle slightly at his tone. "I got some of the pills in him Guster had left, so he'll need something to eat pretty soon."

"Already got a soup brewing," Henry said as he pointed behind him to where a pot was sat on the stove.

Lassiter nodded and continued to eat in silence.

As soon as they'd finished dinner, Lassiter thanked him and quickly gathered his things and headed for the door.

"Detective," Henry called after him just as he was about to get into his car. Lassiter stopped and looked up at him, "Don't forget to get some rest."

A brief nod later and Lassiter was sat behind the wheel, the car soon leaving the driveway.

Henry turned his attention to the soup and upon noting that it was finished, he turned off the stove and headed into the living room, stopping when he got a look at his son. Shawn was pale just like he'd been before, looking so ridiculously young as he lay cramped on the couch, huddled together as tightly as he could.

Seeing his son like this, Henry remembered what he'd looked like when he'd been just seventeen. Madeline had left at this point and Shawn had barely spoken to him. He'd kept his distance, spending most of his time in his room, coming down only when he had to or to go to Gus's, though Henry did know that most times he would merely climb out of his bedroom window to go see his best friend. Henry had come home late from a shift one evening, only to find Shawn sat on the couch in the living room instead of being locked inside his room. It had taken some careful words before his son would open up to him, but he'd got the general gist. Gus was away for the week and school had been hell. At that time a lecture had been on the tip of Henry's tongue, but one look in Shawn's eyes had told him clearer than any words ever could that that was not what his son was in need of. Instead he'd sat next to him on the couch and they'd watched television, just like when Shawn was nine years old and at least thought that his dad was _cool_ some of the time.

Shawn looked much the same now. Still that seventeen year old kid, vulnerable and so goddamn confused he didn't know which way to turn. Henry eased himself down to sit on the coffee table and looked at his son for a moment. He reached a hand out unconsciously and left it hovering just a couple of inches above Shawn's cheek, desperate to provide some sort of comfort, to show that not so deep down he did care. But he couldn't. He had never been the parent to consistently provide hugs and kisses. He withdrew his hand with a sigh, instead opting for pulling the blankets a little higher up Shawn's shoulders. Shawn shifted slightly, mumbling in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering and Henry decided that he might as well try to wake his son all the way up now that he'd already started. The soup was ready after all.

"Shawn," Henry said, trying to keep his voice soft, though it was a trying feat after all these years mostly yelling, growling or snapping at his son.

He reached forward and gave Shawn's shoulder a light squeeze which was apparently enough to draw him out of his slumber. A miracle considering how hard it had been to wake the kid when he was younger.

"Dad?" Shawn's voice slurred as he looked groggily up at his father, a hand already rising to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

"Sit up, okay? I've got you some soup," Henry couldn't stand watching Shawn battling for control over his shaking limbs, so he quickly offered his assistance in getting Shawn to sit up.

Shawn looked far from happy about the new arrangement.

"Feel any better?" Henry asked when he returned from the kitchen with the soup.

"A little," Shawn said quietly, his nose scrunching in disgust as he looked in the bowl that Henry handed him.

"Yes, you have to eat it," Henry said quickly before Shawn had the chance to ask.

Shawn eyed the soup sceptically, sniffing quietly before bringing the spoon down into the steaming liquid. As Henry sat down on the couch next to him he tried not to notice how Shawn's eyes were red rimmed and how his breathing was slightly laboured. Instead he leant back against the couch and picked up the remote control, turning on the television, reminiscent of all those years ago.

"Did you make this?" Shawn asked after a few minutes of silence, his voice still far too quiet and almost hesitant.

"Yeah," Henry replied, seemingly keeping his attention on the television even though most of his mind was on his son.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shawn nod lightly before dipping the spoon back into the soup. Henry draped his right arm over the back of the couch, not missing how Shawn's gaze flickered towards the hand now dangerously close to his right shoulder. A soft smiled played on Henry's lips at his son's confused gaze and he turned his head slightly away from Shawn so he wouldn't see.

Shawn didn't finish all of the soup, a combination of fear of nausea returning and pain in his throat no doubt being the major factors in play. It was worrying Henry more than he was letting on how sick Shawn was and how ill he looked. He was bearing a disturbingly close resemblance to a zombie and this was something Henry would rather have avoided.

His son's eyes were drooping by the time he'd finished up out in the kitchen again but a quick ruffle of his hair had him awake quicker than any words would have.

"Here," Henry said as he held a bag out towards Shawn who looked at the bag sceptically.

"What is it?" He asked as he raised one hand towards the bag.

"I stopped by your apartment and got a few of your things," Henry explained and Shawn finally took the bag, looking down at the contents strangely.

"I'm not staying here," Shawn said looking up at his father almost desperately.

"For the moment, yes, you are," Henry retorted, giving his son a look that clearly read, 'no arguments'.

Shawn looked at the bag dejectedly before he started to rifle through the contents. Henry hadn't brought a load, only gathering together a few essential items and a change of clothes. He knew he'd hit jackpot though when Shawn's face lit up fondly and he pulled out his pyjamas. If only the kid could be so happy to see him one day.

* * *

His vision was kind of blurry when he awoke, though a couple of rapid blinks helped a little bit, clearing enough for him to take in the coffee table in his father's living sitting just half a meter from his nose. He didn't particularly want to move too much as he'd just realised that he was warm and comfortable without too much pain for the first time in what felt like years. Shawn sighed and closed his eyes again, hoping to be able to fall back into a peaceful sleep. Soft, early morning sunlight was dancing in through the window behind the couch, bringing dust to life in its wake. He squinted at the display only then noticing that his eyes had opened again.

Dejectedly, he looked around the living room, noticing that his dad was nowhere to be seen. Grumbling slightly he pushed back the covers, and swung his legs to the side so he was sitting on the couch. He was very grateful for his pyjamas as they'd made the night a much warmer and nicer experience. The bag his dad had brought him was sitting next to the couch and he dragged it closer with one hand, shifting through it until he found one of his hooded jumpers. He might even admit to his father's face how happy he was about that. Shawn pulled the jumper on over the pyjamas before standing up slowly, annoyed to find his legs were still feeling pretty shaky and his head had started its own private concert featuring only heavy metal. Apparently movement was still a bad idea.

He brought a hand to search for anything useful to help keep him on his feet, finally relenting and using whatever came at hand, such as the couch, the wall and the doorframe. His dad wasn't in the kitchen either. He sniffed and squinted at the digital clock on the oven and he groaned wondering what in the world had possessed him to wake up at half past six in the morning. The walk back to the couch suddenly looked twice as long as the walk to the kitchen, but he simply refused to believe he was exhausted. Exhaustion was not the reason he just dropped down into one of the kitchen chairs and put his head on the table. No sir. He was merely resting his eyes for a moment.

Images flashed before his eyes completely and totally uninvited. Why, oh why did Lassie have to show him those crime scene photos? His mind saw no reason why it shouldn't investigate and he simply couldn't help getting sucked in. Wait. Was he seriously talking about his mind as though it was another person? Shawn groaned again, wondering if falling asleep right here in the kitchen would mean that he was a little more like his old self when he woke again. He seriously doubted it.

For once he didn't want to think about a case, certain that occupying himself with gory images and a way too vivid imagination to fill in any unwanted details would not aid his recovery in the slightest. Shawn sniffed again, bringing his arms across his chest to keep any heat from escaping. He breathed deeply through his mouth, enjoying the cocoon of warm air he'd made for himself between his chest and face.

Two bodies.

_Both_ sliced and diced –

_Stop it!_

He didn't want to think about any of this. It wasn't helping the pain in his head in the slightest. It was hard, though, to force all those images out of his head once he'd allowed them access, especially since he'd not had much of a chance recently to replace them with something – _anything_ – else. It wasn't that he wasn't used to seeing dead people – pardon, _bodies_ – because he certainly was. No, the problem here was that he was feeling particularly horrible, he didn't even remember the last time he'd felt this bad, and a case on top of it was not helping. He wanted to focus on getting better, but his mind betrayed him as soon as there was something that caught its attention, and this case most certainly had.

Shawn jerked upright, nearly toppling off the chair when a sharp, somewhat familiar ringing broke through his mind. Yeah, and that _so_ didn't help his headache either. As the ringing continued the realisation that it was _his_ phone making that noise slowly dawned on him. Still seated, he turned his head a few times as he tried to locate his phone, hardly remembering when he'd last seen it.

There.

The noisy little devil was sitting innocently on the kitchen counter. Shawn glared at it before he noticed that too aggravated his headache. With a sigh he put his hands on the table, mustering up the strength to push himself back on his feet. In the meantime his phone had stopped ringing only start again a few seconds later. Who was so desperate at half past six – correction, quarter to seven in the morning? His feet felt terribly heavy as he dragged himself across the kitchen floor towards his phone.

"'Ello," he said, his voice strangely stuffy, as he finally reached the phone.

"_Spencer_?" Shawn groaned again. Lassie this early in the morning was not appreciated. "_What in the world are you doing up_?"

Shawn took the phone away from his ear for a minute to stare at it in confusion.

"Lassie," he answered in the end, "you called me. Why do that if you didn't intend for me to pick up the phone?"

"_Don't be a smartass_," Lassiter chastised. Shawn closed his eyes and leant heavily against the kitchen counter, hoping that it was enough to keep him upright. "_Look, Spencer, you…you were…_"

Shawn waited. Patience had never been his thing but at the moment he was willing to simply forget that he was even talking on the phone. He could hear what he believed was Juliet's voice in the background but he couldn't make out any words.

Whatever she might have said obviously had an effect on the Head Detective as he finally continued, "_You were right_."

"Thank you, Lassie. Can I go now?" Shawn asked, at the moment not caring all too much what Lassiter had just said to him.

"_What? No, you can't go now_," Lassiter spluttered and Shawn didn't even need his avid imagination to know that the detective was starting to turn a pale shade of red, or possibly purple. "_You were right about the victims_."

"And that surprises you, why?" Shawn questioned, allowing a small smirk to play along his lips despite his ill-being.

"_Spencer_," and that was certainly Lassiter's warning tone that often indicated that he was also grinding his teeth. Some would also say that it was the tread-carefully tone, but Shawn disregarded that. "_We got IDs on both of the victims and they were married_."

"Uh huh," Shawn grunted as he pressed his free hand against his forehead, his headache growing worse the longer he remained vertical. "Tell me something I _don't_ know." Shawn was actually quite sure he heard Lassiter grind his teeth that time, "Oh, and don't grind your teeth so much, you'll wear down the enamel in your molars."

He was met with silence and he wondered if maybe the detective had given up or if he was counting backwards from ten. It turned out to be the latter.

"_Their names are Norman and Marlene Oakville_," Lassiter continued and Shawn had no doubt he was trying to merely get through this briefing as quickly as humanely possible. "_The Chief thought you should know_."

Obviously it was very important for the detective to make sure that Shawn knew that _he_ certainly wasn't the one who wanted to make the call.

"And?" Shawn prompted, waiting for Lassiter to say something that would blow this case wide open.

"_And nothing_," Lassiter said, his tone a clear indicator as to what he thought about the lack of progress. "_That's all we've got_."

Shawn sniffed and dragged a hand over his eyes, annoyed at how they kept watering lately.

"Alright. Cool. Peace out," Shawn said finally.

Lassiter might have had more to say but Shawn hung up the phone before he got the chance. Shawn put the phone back on the counter and started his long and daunting journey back to the living room. Lying down sounded like an immensely good idea.

Lassiter's presence at the house the day before had unnerved him more than he was willing to admit. The fact that he hadn't known that his father and best friend intended to leave him with Lassiter of all people was what had made it so much worse when he'd woken up. Yes, maybe he had been a teensy bit hostile, but he was ill and Lassiter was definitely the last person he'd suspected to sit in his dad's living room, especially when Shawn was the only other occupant in the house. It had been uncomfortable. He'd actually felt enormously unsafe in his childhood home, the living room suddenly stiflingly claustrophobic.

He paused in the doorway, leaning his body against the frame of the door as he tried to battle the dizzy spell that had just claimed him. He raised his head and waited for his vision to settle, looking towards the couch which seemed to be miles away rather than meters. He swallowed as he tried to calculate how many steps he would have to take to return to the warm cocoon of his blankets. His raw throat tickled and his breath caught in his throat. It was enough to bring on another bout of coughing. He doubled over as the coughs tore through him, keeping on hand firmly against the doorframe to keep him from falling forwards. By the time the coughs wore down to nothing more than wheezy breaths the floor looked a million times more inviting than the faraway couch.

His legs gave out and he didn't try too hard to stop his descent to the floor. At least lying on the floor – though a hard surface – he wouldn't be standing anymore and that in itself was definitely an improvement. He stared blearily up at the ceiling, noting distractedly that it looked pretty much the same as it had when he'd been a kid and had attempted to pretend to be a doormat so his dad wouldn't see him. And people said he hadn't matured.

The downside of the floor was that it was both hard _and _cold making it extremely uncomfortable. He'd been able to ignore it at first but now the cold was started to affect him again making involuntary shivers run through him. He rolled his head to the side and looked longingly towards the couch. He could make it, couldn't he? It wasn't _that_ far after all. He should be able to reach it within an hour or so, give or take a few minutes.

The victims were married.

Sure he'd figured that out before but now it had actually been confirmed. Why would a random married couple be targeted for such a gruesome killing? Maybe they weren't random. Maybe they hadn't been targeted at all, but that wouldn't make sense because why go through so much trouble for some random people?

Oh no. He was doing it again. Shawn groaned and rolled onto his stomach, simultaneously bringing his hands underneath himself so that he was ready to push himself off the floor. Clearly he wasn't able to let this case go.

He managed to get as far as onto his knees before his arms started to shake. It was no wonder that his chin now hurt considering he'd already come to the conclusion that the floor was hard. He brought a hand to his now aching chin as he lay on the floor again, a bit surprised that there was no blood considering how much that fall back to the floor had hurt.

Moaning in pain he commenced his journey back to vertical again, though his arms were even less cooperative now than they had been moments before. He could already feel that this was not going to work when he didn't even get to his knees this time before his arms started to shake. Why wasn't his dad up at six in the morning when he actually might possibly need him to be? As he lay on the floor yet again Shawn realised that he might need a different tactic.

He eyed the doorframe not that far away from him, deciding that it would work perfectly as a crutch to get him on his feet. He wiggled slightly on the floor, forcing his arms and legs to cooperate long enough for him to drag his way over to the frame. He resisted the insignificant urge to shout out in the jubilation once he reached his destination because, quite honestly, he was not feeling particularly happy right now. He rolled onto his back and scooted backwards until his back was against the frame, and then with the grace of Sid the Sloth he pushed himself upwards. This may just be the most degrading moment of his life.

"Shawn, what are you doing?"

With a yelp of surprise he fell back down to the floor. He'd been so close to actually being upright. Damn his father for coming now. Sure he'd needed him earlier but he was doing fine just then. A little bit of help from a doorframe and he was sorted.

"Da-ad," he whined. Everything hurt ten times worse now and new aches were now added to the previous ones. Who knew falling down on the floor _so many times_ could result in so much pain?

"You're an idiot, kid," Henry scolded gruffly as he crouched down next to Shawn, who was squinting up at him through his lashes.

"Really? I thought I was doing pretty good then," Shawn said, trying to sound like his usual snarky self, but it was dreadfully ruined by the slight hitching breath evident in his voice.

"What were you doing anyway?" Dad asked as he slipped a hand behind his back to help him off the floor.

"Ow," Shawn moaned as he tried to do most of the work of getting on his feet, but even though he would never _ever_ admit it, his dad was the one doing most of the work. "My phone rang."

"I don't care," Henry retorted. He sounded angry but there was something else hinted in his voice. He was frustrated with his son, that much Shawn knew – he had been all of his life after all – but there was also a touch of worry and concern, and Shawn wasn't sure why that made him almost want to thank his dad for helping him off the floor. Almost. He wasn't a big cry baby and he wasn't in desperate need of his dad. No, he simply needed a crutch that could do most of the work of getting him back to the couch and his dad was doing a marvellous job of fulfilling that duty.

Shawn practically fell back against the cushions of the couch, grudgingly having to admit that his dad was right. He really was an idiot. His head hurt a bazillion times worse than when he'd woken up, making those annoying tears spring to his eyes again. As though this situation wasn't bad enough. He sniffed and brought a hand up to rub against his eyes, noticing then that his hand was shaking again. He drew in a sharp breath which only resulted in starting another coughing fit and his chest already hurt.

He let his head fall forward to rest in his hands as he tried to gasp in air, feeling it tearing at his raw throat as it passed into his lungs. He felt a warm hand settle on his back and he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to welcome the comfort it provided. He didn't need comforting. He knew he could keep telling himself this but that didn't mean that he had to use his already low energy supply to bat the hand away or move away from the touch.

"Can I get you anything?" Henry asked after a while, his voice surprisingly soft, a word Shawn would have never thought could be associated with his father.

Shawn shook his head limply, scrunching his eyes together as another wave of pain flashed through his head.

"I can heat some of the soup up for you," Henry offered, his hand now rubbing soothing circles across his son's back.

"It's okay," Shawn whispered, forcing the words out in one breath. "Do you know if Gus is coming by today?"

"He said he might stop by this morning before going to work," Henry answered as he stood up, eying his son critically. "Do you want to go see a doctor?"

Shawn's head snapped up – way too quickly – and he blinked rapidly to try and clear his vision and stop the room from swimming. He was finally able to look at his father and see that he was completely serious.

"No," he said hastily.

"If you're sure," Henry sighed. "I'll be back in a bit."

Henry left the living room and Shawn fell against the back cushions, utterly exhausted from his morning expedition. He had an inkling suspicion that his dad had gone to get that dreaded thermometer again and he was proven right when Henry returned, thermometer in one hand and a glass of juice in the other.

Shawn wordlessly held his hand out for whatever his dad wanted him to take first. Thermometer apparently was first on the day's agenda. With a slight huff of defeat he put the thermometer in his mouth to rest underneath his tongue. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, relishing in the momentary lack of pain his lack of movement provided. He felt the couch dip as his father sat down next to him again, but he didn't open his eyes or move his head, not wanting to disturb his momentary peace. He knew Henry was studying him, but it was easier to let him than try to divert his attention.

It was Henry who finally removed the thermometer when Shawn neglected to do it himself. His father was quiet, so quiet that Shawn cracked one eye open to peer at his father.

"How bad?" Shawn finally asked, his voice not much more than a croaky whisper.

"Not worse than before, but not really that much better either," Henry said, huffing a sigh as he glared at the thermometer. He pointed towards the glass sitting on the coffee table, "Drink the juice."

Shawn shifted his gaze to the glass. Movement was an imperative if he had to get that glass.

"Do I have to move?" Shawn moaned and he heard his father elicit a small chuckle. "I'm not joking."

"I know you're not," Henry commented as he leant forward and lifted the glass off the table and held it out towards Shawn.

Shawn accepted it reluctantly, annoyed that he had to lift his head if he didn't want to choke, and he certainly did not want that. He'd already hacked up his lungs a few times this morning; there was no need for a repeat session.

He was extremely grateful that the knock on the door that came a few moments later came before he had a chance to take a sip of the juice. Otherwise, knowing his luck, he wouldn't have been surprised if the person outside had knocked right when he'd taken the first sip, thereby startling him and hey presto, another coughing attack.

Shawn remained on the couch as Henry left to see who was at the door but Shawn already had a sneaking suspicion that it was his best friend, who'd got up early to go see his best friend before going to his job. While his dad was out of the room he briefly looked around for a potted plant wherein he could pour some the juice, but he overcame the urge to not cause his throat anymore pain and instead took a gulp of the liquid, wincing as it scratched at his throat.

It was indeed Gus who had been at the door and it wasn't long before his friend came into the living room with a concerned frown on his face. Henry hadn't come back and Shawn was secretly – or not so secretly – glad to have a moment with his best friend without his dad leering over his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, how're you doing?" Gus asked as he sat down on the couch where Henry had been moments before.

"I'm super," Shawn answered as cheerfully as he could muster, but it sounded a bit off as his voice resembled that of a seventy years old chain smoker.

"Of course," Gus retorted, taking the now empty glass from Shawn's grasp and put it back on the table.

"Gus?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you do me a favour?"

"Name it."

Gus really should have learned by now never to utter those words to Shawn.

"Can you drive me to the crime scene?"

* * *

Thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: My sincerest apologies for how long it took to get this chapter out. It was being a right mean old *censored*. Thanks to all who have reviewed so far! You're awesome.

Disclaimer: Look at chapter 1.

* * *

"I hate you, Shawn."

Definitely not a rare thing for Gus to tell his friend.

"You really are an idiot."

In this situation Gus was probably even right about that, seeing as how he was driving his little blue car towards a crime scene with Shawn sitting in the passenger seat. Shawn was equally aware of how Gus kept trying to not look at him and when he lost this battle he would turn his head quickly and give Shawn a furious glare before looking back towards the road. For his part Shawn kept his head leaning against the cool glass of the window, continuously contemplating what had possessed him to think this was a good idea. He'd already prevented Gus from turning the car around and heading back to his father's house twice, so he knew he had to stay awake to make sure that third-time-lucky didn't get a chance.

It had been almost too easy to get Gus to drive him to the crime scene. It had taken a few half-hearted whispered arguments as long as some sympathy coughing and pouting before Gus had finally relented. Who knew it was so much harder to sneak out of the house like a ninja when your chest felt like it was on fire and even the _air_ was against your very existence? Thankfully Gus had had the sense of mind to remind him to change into his jeans, which he had to agree would worker a little better against the wind than his pyjama bottoms.

"When are you going to fall asleep?" Gus asked after a whole three minutes of silence.

"I'm not going to fall asleep just so you can turn the car around and head back to my dad's place," Shawn informed his friend, keeping his head glued to the window, a little annoyed that keeping his head in that position meant that the coolness that the window had provided was dissipating. He moaned and rolled his head against the seat of the car so he was looking at his best friend. "Besides, I feel fine," Shawn croaked and sniffed.

Gus glared at him again, apparently not agreeing with Shawn's sentiment. Honestly, Shawn didn't agree with himself either but maybe saying it repeatedly would make the headache disappear. The headache was actually tolerable right now, probably thanks to the drugs Gus had shoved into his hand along with a bottle of water as soon as he'd got into the car, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't bothering him.

He glanced at the water bottle in his hand as he briefly wondered what his father was doing now. He'd probably found out that they'd gone now, meaning it wouldn't come as a surprise if he was currently thinking up evil ways of lecturing Shawn when they came back. The thought had Shawn wanting more than ever to return to his own apartment once this little adventure had run its course. Perhaps his father didn't care. Maybe he was enjoying having his couch back so he could sit and watch his little fishing shows. Shawn rolled his eyes at that thought. There was no way his dad would just accept something he had done. Especially not when there was a really good opportunity to lecture him.

The ringing of Gus's phone startled him out of his musings and he looked towards his friend who was already moving his hand towards the phone.

"Don't answer it," Shawn spoke quickly with a completely justified urgent tone to his voice.

"Why not? It's my phone," Gus said, though he didn't answer the phone and instead let it ring as he gazed briefly towards Shawn.

"It's my dad," Shawn explained, knowing full well that if Gus answered that phone there would be no force in the universe that would keep Gus from turning the car around.

Gus looked towards Shawn again, his hand hovering dangerously close to the phone. The phone finally stopped ringing and Shawn let out a sigh of relief.

"He'll be mad," Gus commented as he turned his eyes back to the road.

"He'll be mad at me, not at you," Shawn corrected as he tried to get comfortable against the seat but it was proving a bit of a challenge.

"I hate you," Gus said again, but the lack of severity in his tone made Shawn's mouth curve into a light smile.

They drove in companionable silence for a good ten minutes. It was a hard feat normally for Shawn (and even Gus on occasion) to stand silence for that long, no matter if it was comfortable or tense, but talking was rather abusive to his throat clearly evidenced by his voice growing raspier the more he spoke. He tried clearing his throat a few times, resorting to the water when it didn't help. Unfortunately the water no longer made the biggest difference but only made him wince slightly when he swallowed.

"It's to the right up here," Shawn said as he pushed himself a little higher in his seat, recognising the dirt road leading up to the crime scene – or rather the dirt road that would take them as far as they could go. At least the cops had cleared the undergrowth enough to get vehicles through, but you could never know if Gus would simply refuse to let his _company_ car drive through the dirt and mud.

"How did you get up here before?" Gus asked as he slowed down and indicated, even though they hadn't seen another car for the past ten minutes at least.

"A cab," Shawn answered casually.

"You took a cab to a crime scene?" Gus questioned and looked over at Shawn again.

"Yeah," Shawn verified, quite aware that Gus was still sneaking glances at him due to the news of his somewhat unusual behaviour. "My bike was back at my apartment," Shawn explained, "and you left for work."

"Because you said you would call your dad," Gus shot back almost defensively but not quite. Shawn heard that slight note of guilt that his friend truly had no reason to be feeling. After all, it had been Shawn's own decision to head to the crime scene after he'd heard word of it over his police scanner. True, it had not been his shining moment to collapse at a crime scene, but somehow his memory leading up to that particular event was still as crystal clear as ever, even though he'd seen the world through feverish eyes.

Annoyingly the crime scene had stuck in his mind. At first he'd thought it was the crime scene photos but he'd slowly realised that there was more to it than that. He'd seen images that were undoubtedly from his own memory and not from the photographs and he'd been unable to force them from his mind. Instead they always lingered just in the corner of his eyes, demanding his attention to the point where he'd had to admit that going to the crime scene was a necessity. Neither Gus nor his dad would ever agree with him on that. Possibly Gus once they found something of profound interest and returned home safe and sound, but not before.

"You can carry on a bit further," Shawn said when Gus started to slow the car down.

"There's hardly any road here," Gus pointed out while the little blue car still slowed its pace.

"It's fine," Shawn countered, "they cleared it for police access."

Gus still didn't look convinced but with a loud huff he eased the car forwards again, his forehead creasing into a frown of concentration as he clearly tried to find the best way for the car. Shawn gave a brief nod of approval and turned to watch the scenery looking for any clues, which proved considerably hard seeing as how his vision chose just then to double as another dizzy spell hit him. Seriously, who gets dizzy in the passenger seat of a car?

"How far did the cab take you?" Gus asked moments later, clearly concerned for his car.

"Oh, it let me out when the dirt track began," Shawn said offhandedly, internally counting down to Gus's outburst. He was spot on.

"You walked up this hill?" There was a strong note of incredulity as well as a hint of concern along with the usual tone that meant that he was concerned for Shawn's sanity. Shawn was at least grateful that it was _him_ and not the _car_ that Gus was worrying about now. It at least made him feel slightly important that he for once came before the car.

"Sure did, buddy," Shawn answered, trying to sound as proud of himself as possible though it came out a bit tamer than his usual efforts.

"And what about my car?" There was no way the car could have not come into this again.

As so many other countless times Shawn decided that, though he could have started a rather fun argument, it was better to just let this one go. All Shawn cared about at the moment was getting to the crime scene, preferably as quickly as possibly so they could get out of here and back to his dad's place. He would then suffer through a lecture where he would, annoyingly, stay awake throughout and then, blissfully, he could sleep again.

The car came to a halt sooner than Shawn would have liked as their position resulted in walking being a necessity in order to get to the crime scene. Gus got out of the car first while Shawn stared at the door handle, hoping against all odds that once he pushed that door open he wouldn't be met by any cold wind, rain, sleet, hail or snow. Sure, the last, well, three options were beyond highly unlikely but unlikely was not the same as impossible, and he'd just discovered that the car was actually pretty nice and toasty warm.

Shawn was cruelly torn away from his musings by a quick tapping against his window. He looked up to see his best friend staring down at him, his lips moving and Shawn could faintly make out his words. Clearly his friend did not care if he wanted to stay in the car. Shawn grudgingly opened the door, at least grateful when he wasn't met with a blast of cold air.

"Took you long enough," Gus commented as Shawn shut the door behind him and pulled on the coat Gus handed him.

"Shut up."

Shawn raised his gaze to the trek that still awaited them. The Echo had taken them a good deal of the way, leaving only a short walk to the actual crime scene, but despite the short distance it still seemed daunting for Shawn, considering the longest walk he'd done since his collapse at the crime scene was the walk from the living room to the car. With an excruciatingly heavy sigh he took a step forward, noticing how Gus stayed by his side, keeping step with him even though his pace was infuriatingly slow.

Talking was kept to a minimum as they walked the rest of the way to the crime scene. Shawn didn't doubt for a second that under normal circumstances the walk from the car to the crime scene wouldn't have taken longer than five to ten minutes. In the end it took them twenty minutes before they actually reached the scene. At one point Gus had even suggested that he go get the car and see if it could make it the rest of the way up the hill, but Shawn knew it wasn't because _he_ was tired so Shawn had told him there was no need. There was also no doubt in Shawn's mind that he might regret that decision later when it came to going back to the car. Every little hurdle at a time.

Even Gus looked relieved at the sight of the yellow police tape. Some of the images that had continuously flashed in Shawn's mind were brought back more vividly as he looked at the scene, trying to remember what it had looked like when there was a body there. He'd never been able to get close to the body and get a good look at it, so the crime scene photos Lassiter had shoved at him actually helped a great deal to recreate the scene as it had been when he'd first been here. Swearing that he would never tell his old man, he closed his eyes and kept a clear image of the scene in his mind while he used his memory to fill in the details, or the body as some might call it.

He remembered that something had bothered him at the scene, besides the splintering headache. There had been something off with the body. He'd noticed it in the photos too but he hadn't been sure, but being at the scene again made him even more certain. He snapped his eyes open and stalked forwards as fast as he was able to where the body had been. He was hardly aware of Gus following him as he eyed the ground. The soil and leaves had been disturbed by the forensics team and cops but not enough so that the drag marks he'd seen leading away from the body had disappeared.

"Gus, look," Shawn said eagerly as he pointed towards the drag marks.

"Is that drag marks?" Gus asked as he stepped closer to peer at the disturbed ground. "Don't you think the police would have already found that?"

"Yes, I believe they have," Shawn answered slightly distractedly, "otherwise this would be way too easy. But it at least tells us that good old Norman was not killed here."

"Norman? That's the guy's name?" Gus inquired and when Shawn nodded he frowned in thought before saying, "Don't you think the police have figured that out too?"

"Yes," Shawn repeated as he crouched down to look closer at the ground where the body had been.

"I think they've cleaned the area around the body pretty good," Gus said almost carefully as he too crouched down.

Shawn nodded again, knowing that Gus was undoubtedly right but he couldn't go to the next scene before he'd at least made an honest attempt to find something. Shawn squinted at the soil, hoping that something would jump out at him that was the clue he was looking for. There had to be something. He knew there was.

"I don't see anything," Shawn admitted dejectedly, rubbing at his eyes in the hope that the action would help clear his vision as well as his mind.

"Let's go to the next scene," Gus suggested lightly, casually placing a hand on Shawn arm when he started to stand up. "I'm sure you'll find something there."

Shawn shifted his gaze to look away from the ground and instead to his friend, allowing a slow smile to work its way onto his face.

"Thanks, buddy," Shawn said sincerely before he started walking forwards, following the line of police tape. He hadn't been at the other scene and sincerely hoped that Gus was right, that he would find something there which could help him piece this together.

The second crime scene was about one hundred and twenty feet away from the first. It was higher up and Shawn was starting to feel his lungs closing off again, threatening with another wracking attack of coughs. He tried to breathe shallowly to see if this would help, but it only seemed to aggravate the lingering irritation in his throat. He stopped momentarily, resting a hand against a tree as he tried to keep his vision from blurring and his breathing from worsening. Gus was eyeing him closely, that much he was aware of and he tried to ignore it and instead pushed forward and up the hill.

The second scene was left in much the same state as the first. Shawn brought his right hand to his temple in a desperate attempt to concentrate as much as he possibly could as he surveyed the scene. The leaves littering the forest floor were starting to annoy him as he was sure they were obscuring that very important clue he was looking for. His eyes flitted across the forest floor, landing on the area where it was clear the body had been. He knew the rain had already done its damage making it that much harder for the cops to actually find any evidence at the scene, but he was still determined to try his hardest.

"It was Marlene Oakville here," Shawn mumbled absentmindedly. "Why would they be killed and dumped separately?"

"Oakville?" Gus said inquisitively as he turned to look at Shawn with a confused frown.

"Yeah," Shawn said offhandedly as he took a step closer to where the body had been and tilted his head to the side.

"Marlene Oakville?" Shawn nodded inattentively. "She's a doctor."

"What?" Shawn said, looking up a little too quickly but he proudly kept himself from swaying on the spot.

"You didn't know that?" Gus asked.

"No, Lassiter never said," Shawn replied, trying to fit this new piece into the equation, which in all honesty wasn't all that hard considering there wasn't even enough information to form an equation to begin with.

"She's a psychiatrist," Gus continued, his frown changing into a look of eager excitement that often came whenever he knew something that Shawn didn't. "She's not on my route, but I know of her."

"You know of her?" Shawn repeated as he raised his eyebrows, turning his head to look at Gus.

Gus glared at him.

"Yes, Shawn, I know of her," Gus retorted irritably. "She was going to be on my route at one point, but my route changed and so did a few of my clients."

"Clients? They're your _clients_ now?"

"Shut up, Shawn. You know what I mean."

"Alright, so she's a doctor," Shawn continued, deciding to stop annoying his friend for now. "What does that tell us?"

"I don't know," Gus said slowly.

"What does her husband do?" Shawn asked as he started slowly walking down the hill, keeping his eyes open for any faded drag marks.

"How should I know?" Gus retorted as he followed Shawn back down the hill.

"Well, you know Marlene, so you might know Norman too," Shawn said offhandedly, a slow smirk creeping its way across his lips.

"I don't know Marlene," Gus snapped as he started walking faster to walk next to Shawn, so he could glare at him, "and I don't know Norman either."

Shawn stopped and looked closer at the ground, blocking out anything else Gus might have said.

"Huh, that's weird."

"What's weird?" Gus inquired, moving his head slightly from side to side as though he thought that would make it easier to catch onto whatever Shawn had seen.

"I need to go back to the first scene," Shawn stated with newfound energy that his body may not agree on, though he didn't particularly care as he hurried back across the hill.

There had been drag marks at the first scene almost leading across the hill instead of down it, but nothing at the second scene. If there had been even the smallest indication that Marlene Oakville's body had been dragged through that soil and those devilish leaves, Shawn knew he would have seen it. He trusted his abilities that much even when he wasn't on top of his game.

"Shawn, what are you doing?" Gus asked once he'd caught up. Shawn had no doubt that his friend had spent a considerable amount of time staring at the ground and after Shawn before he decided to follow.

"Drag marks," Shawn replied excitedly as though this was the answer to all things unexplainable.

"So?" Gus questioned once they both came to a halt next to where Norman Oakville's body had been.

"There weren't any near Marlene's body," Shawn said with a lingering note of enthusiasm.

"So she's wasn't dragged," Gus said slowly with a hint of uncertainty as realisation slowly dawned on him. "Norman was dragged here, but she wasn't?"

"What would I do without you?" Shawn said with mock fondness and sincerity.

"Die of starvation," Gus stated without moment's hesitation.

Shawn frowned at him but didn't say anything but instead proceeded to follow the drag marks as best he could. He had to double back a few times and still he lost the marks a few times. The rain had helped to wash away the evidence and whoever had dragged Norman through here had tried to cover it up. Finally, he stopped, Gus nearly bumping into him from behind, as he looked down at where the drag marks changed course.

"Aha!" Shawn exclaimed and pointed with a flourish at the ground. Unfortunately his exclamation caused his throat to close up uncomfortably bringing forth another round of coughing, effectively ruining his reveal. Once he was able to breathe again he continued, "Look, Gus. The drag marks."

"I don't see anything," Gus admitted, clearly finding this very irritating as he wanted to be as excited about this as his friend.

"Look closer," Shawn urged. "This is where Norman's drag marks end their journey across the hill, but look, they're going down the hill here." Shawn waited for Gus to slowly nod his head before carrying on, "And look here, right next to it. Another set of drag marks."

"So both Marlene and Norman were dragged up here," Gus replied slowly as he started to piece together what Shawn was showing him.

"Yes, but Norman was dragged off that way," Shawn continued impatiently, pointing distractedly back towards where Norman's body had been found, "while Marlene's body ended up, up there," he now pointed up the hill, "with no drag marks."

Shawn started bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet while he watched understanding dawn on Gus's face.

"Marlene wasn't dragged," Gus said, his tone nearing the same level of excitement as Shawn, though he had to absentmindedly put a steadying hand on Shawn's arm when the bouncing proved too much for his already dizzy head to handle.

"At least not all the way up, so why's that?" Shawn continued, forcing himself to tone down his enthusiasm so as not to collapse in these woods again. Once was plenty. When Gus only looked at Shawn expectantly he continued, "Gus, I think this was a two man job. Think about it, two drag marks leading up, then one goes off that way," Shawn again pointed towards the first crime scene, "while the other stops here," Shawn nodded to the ground in front of them and waited for Gus to do this also and look back up at him before continuing, "but the body is found up there."

"I think I've gathered that by now, Shawn," Gus retorted. "What do we do now?"

"I thought you would never ask," Shawn said happily as a smile slipped across his face and Gus looked suddenly worried. "Come on."

Shawn started walking along the two sets of drag marks, careful not to disturb the ground further as it was already hard to see any indication that two bodies had been hauled through the soil.

"Where are you going?" Gus asked as he started walking after him. Shawn felt as if there was a pattern developing here. "The car is over there."

"I'm following the drag marks," Shawn answered determinedly.

"Oh hell no," Gus exclaimed and he jogged up and stopped in front of Shawn, who nearly bumped into him when he momentarily forgot his reflexes were a bit slower than normal. "Shawn, you're sick –"

"That's a little bit harsh," Shawn mumbled, but Gus ignored the quip.

"I've already got you out of your dad's house and driven you to a crime scene," Gus continued ranting, his tone growing increasingly urgent as though he was afraid that Shawn's attention span was limited, which in all honesty was probably a reasonable fear. "Your dad's already going to kill me. I'm not going to let you wander off trying to find _two_ murderers in your condition."

"Alright, first of all," Shawn said, holding up one finger, "we've already been over this. My dad is going to be mad at _me_, not you. Second of all," Shawn now held up two fingers, "would it make a difference if I made you believe that there was only one murderer?"

Gus glared at him again, drawing in a deep breath before huffing, "Fine. But just for the record, I think this is a bad idea."

Shawn was alright with that so he fixed Gus with an expectant look and waited for his friend to move aside before he continued walking down the hill. Gus fell into step beside him and every so often Shawn could hear him muttering under his breath, and Shawn didn't doubt he was cursing his dear friend. To amuse himself Shawn would occasionally turn and look at Gus confusedly only to earn a glare in response.

Though he would never admit it even if he was threatened by the power of the almighty Furies, Shawn was incredibly grateful when the woodland cleared and gave way to even ground covered in asphalt. Gus stopped next to him and Shawn nudged his arm to get his attention, regardless of whether or not he already had it.

"We drove past this," Shawn said and pointed towards the back of the derelict apartment buildings some sixty yards away from them. "This must be the old parking lot."

"We drove past this?" Gus echoed as he furrowed his brow in concentration.

"Yes, it was just before we reached the dirt track," Shawn answered distractedly as he walked forward a few steps, trying to pick up on anything that could give him the next piece of the puzzle.

"Just before, Shawn?" Gus questioned, clearly unsure of Shawn's accuracy when it came to direction.

"Ish," Shawn offered offhandedly, growing increasingly aware of how much stress his lungs claimed to be under.

"Are you sure the marks in the soil let here?" Gus asked uncertainly as he cast a glance along the empty lot.

Shawn nodded slowly. He understood full well what Gus was saying as he had expected there to be something more here than an abandoned parking lot. He felt a shiver run down his spine as he took in just how quiet this place was. He took a moment to listen as the wind as it rustled the leaves in the woodland behind them, creating a hollow, haunting sound that had him want to desperately turn around to see what monsters from the closet could be lurking just out of his field of vision.

His boots sounded heavy and loud as he walked slowly across the parking lot, making sure to keep Gus in sight almost constantly as his friend was currently walking a different route across the asphalt, both hoping to discover something. The apartment buildings had definitely seen better days, but the dark and somewhat damp feeling they gave off as they towered above him did nothing to make the scene any more inviting. He swallowed as he looked up at the buildings before letting his eyes slide back to look at the ground.

There was something glinting in the dull sunlight just a little ways off to his left. Shawn suppressed a shudder, suddenly feeling as if it wasn't just him and Gus out here but a quick sweep of the parking lot denied his suspicion. He walked towards the glinting object – or rather, _objects_, as he noticed as he neared, keeping his steps quiet. It felt wrong to be too loud when everything apart from the wind was so quiet.

It was glass, he noted as he crouched down next to the broken objects. Most likely from a beer bottle. He looked a little closer and keeled backwards in his hurry to get off the ground.

"Gus!" He yelled as loudly as he could, but apparently his lungs, throat and head thought he had yelled _way_ too loud for their taste so he had to double over as another Attack of the Coughs took over.

He could barely hear Gus running over due to his own heaving breaths and the blood pounding in his ears.

"Shawn! Shawn, are you alright?" Gus asked, his voice dripping with concern as he now stood next to his friend, keeping a hand on his shoulder which Shawn was actually immensely happy about as it helped to at least keep him on his feet.

"Broken glass," Shawn wheezed as he pointed at the glass on the ground. "There's blood on it."

"What?" Gus exclaimed as he took half a step away from the broken glass, his hand still in contact with Shawn's shoulder even when Shawn straightened. "That's it. We're leaving. No arguments," he added sternly as he held a finger up in front of Shawn.

"I second that," Shawn admitted quietly. He didn't even want to pretend to want to stay here. Sure, normally places that gave him the creeps made him even more interested to go exploring, but it was different when he wasn't on his normal constant adrenaline high.

The slight flaw in Shawn's plan showed when he started walking again. Apparently hiking with a high fever was not the grandest idea which he was so cruelly made aware of when his legs gave out from under him.

"Shawn!" Gus yelled again and Shawn was immensely grateful that Gus had been right beside him to halt his plunge towards the ground.

"I'm okay," Shawn said automatically once he was somewhat on his feet again.

"I should have never taken you out here," Gus said as he slung Shawn's right arm over his left shoulder.

"Gus, don't be a glass of warm drinking water," Shawn mumbled, frowning slightly at his words. That must have been one of the worst he'd ever come up with.

"There's no way you can make it all the way back to the car," Gus said exasperatedly.

"Sure I can," Shawn countered, ignoring how his whole body seemed to had had enough of his idea of hiking and crime solving.

"You said we drove past this, didn't you?" Gus asked, stopping Shawn as he tried to walk forward.

"Yeah?" Shawn answered slowly, slightly uncertain if he wanted to know what Gus was thinking.

"I'll go get the car as fast as I can," Gus said as he started to haul Shawn closer to the apartment buildings. "You wait here."

"What?" Shawn exclaimed, his voice higher pitched than normal even with his sore throat. "I'm not staying here."

"Call Lassiter or Juliet," Gus continued as though Shawn had not spoken, "tell them what you found and I'll be right back."

"Why don't you stay here, we call them, they come and then you can go and get the car?" Shawn asked, knowing his tone was bordering on desperate.

"Look at yourself, Shawn," Gus snapped and Shawn actually found his gaze shifting downwards to look at his coat. "You can hardly keep upright, let alone walk."

"I can," Shawn defended and took one step forward without Gus's help.

"Shawn," Gus sighed. He looked at Shawn for a moment, who did his best to look like a beaten puppy. "At least sit down." They both walked the rest of the way over to the building, Shawn with a little help from Gus. They sat down on the ground so their back was resting against the building and Shawn leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he tried to will his head at least for the thousandth time to stop spinning. "I'll call Lassiter," Gus said after a minute of silence, "if someone doesn't come up here I'm still leaving to get the car."

"Okay," Shawn rasped as he fought against the fatigue his body was now claiming it was going through. Apparently the case had brought him on some form of an adrenaline high, at least enough for him to come off it. Hard. "I think you were right."

"About what?"

"Maybe coming out here wasn't the best idea," Shawn answered quietly. He felt a hand rest briefly against his forehead but he didn't even want to attempt to bat it away.

"You're seriously burning up," Gus said, a slightly panicked edge to his voice.

"I thought I was already burning up," Shawn mumbled, his voice slurring slightly.

"I'm calling Lassiter," Gus said, his tone now a mixture of urgency and finality, "then I'm getting the car."

Shawn opened his eyes and looking blearily at Gus.

"You're leaving me here?"

"No, I'm getting the car," Gus repeated. "There's a big difference."

"Call my dad," Shawn croaked, almost hoping that Gus hadn't heard him.

"Come again? Now you _want_ me to call your dad?"

"He'll come."

Shawn shifted his gaze across the parking lot and his eyes snapped open fully, his back stiffening as he caught sight of something in the trees.

"Gus…" he said weakly as he patted Gus's arm.

"What?" Gus asked, raising his gaze from the phone he'd just pulled out of his pocket.

"I think there's someone in the woodland."

* * *

Please review and let me know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm terribly sorry about the long wait for this chapter. RL has given me no time to write. Thanks to all who've reviewed! You're all awesome! :)

* * *

Shawn's gaze lingered on the trees. The leaves that had previously rested in the undergrowth moved off the ground a few inches when a light breeze touched them, only to resettle moments later as Shawn tried to catch sight of what he'd seen moments before.

"I don't see anything, Shawn," Gus said, an edge of panic to his voice that suggested that though he couldn't see what Shawn had seen, he still trusted his friend, even though he would have rather had that he was wrong in this moment of time.

"I saw something, I swear I did," Shawn answered, his voice growing quieter as he spoke.

"Where?" Gus questioned as he stood up, but he put a hand on Shawn's shoulder when he too tried to get up.

"Straight ahead," Shawn said, raising a hand to point towards the trees, "just by the tree that has roots that's just trying to trip you up."

Gus ignored Shawn's last comment and continued to scan the line of trees.

"I still don't see anything," he finally said, though the fact that he couldn't see anything did nothing to calm his nerves. Shawn could see a light sheen of sweat gathering on his friend's temple and his forehead was set in a constant frown of anxiety. "Are you absolutely sure you saw something?"

Shawn merely looked up at him and Gus finally looked down when he didn't answer. Shawn gave him a pointed look which told Gus clearly what he thought of his friend's question.

"Right," Gus finally said, sounding slightly less panicked than before but instead he was now shuffling from one foot to the other, "I'm calling Lassiter."

Shawn gave a brief nod of approval before returning his attention to the line of trees, scanning them quickly in an attempt to catch another glimpse of the something – no, some_one_, that he'd seen. There was not an inkling of doubt in his mind that he'd seen a flash of someone clad in dark. Clearly this person was a walking cliché. Why else would they be clad only in black and not something akin to his dad's Hawaiian shirts? While Gus was distracted by the call to Lassiter, Shawn used the wall behind him to push himself up on his feet. Once he was standing he leaned heavily against the wall and closed his eyes for a few moments as he tried to will his heart to stop trying to hammer its way through his chest.

"They're on their way," Gus relayed as he slipped his phone back in his pocket and turned to look at Shawn. He clearly had not realised that Shawn had stood up as his gaze was fixed firmly on the ground for the first second before he looked up. "Shawn," he scolded, sounding far from pleased that Shawn had taken matters into his own hands, regardless of whether Gus wanted him to keep sitting or not.

"Really?" Shawn said with a questionable frown on his forehead as he looked in Gus's direction. "You just call them and then they turn up? Usually I have to –"

"I didn't annoy them before getting to the point," Gus said, cutting Shawn off quickly.

Shawn rolled his eyes, annoyed to find that that small action was enough to aggravate his headache at the moment. Desperate to find something to focus on instead of everything that was hurting, aching or annoying him, he returned his gaze to the woodland

"Do you still want me to call your dad?" Gus asked, breaking the little bit of concentration Shawn had mustered.

"No," Shawn said quickly, making sure to not avert his eyes from the trees.

Gus was saying something again but Shawn wasn't listening as he instead narrowed his eyes in an effort to look closer. He'd seen something. Again.

"I think they're watching us," Shawn said quietly, partly to himself but of course Gus heard him.

"What?" Gus squealed, taking half a step closer to Shawn who thought it would be cruel to choose now to point out that he probably wasn't the best bodyguard at the moment.

Shawn took a step forward, his eyes never leaving the area where he'd seen something move. He'd been sure he'd seen it this time. It was just a flash of a dark coat but it was enough for his mind to register it even when he was feeling far from his normal self.

"Shawn, where are you going?" Gus whispered frantically as he grabbed a hold of Shawn's arm to force him back against the building.

"I'm just going to have a look," Shawn answered distractedly as he started shuffling towards the woodland again only to be yanked back a second later.

"No way," Gus positioned himself in front of Shawn, successfully blocking Shawn's vision of the woodland no matter how hard he tried to twist and turn to look around his friend. "Lassiter and Juliet are on their way. Let's just wait for them."

Shawn narrowed his eyes at Gus, clearly seeing the panic that was practically coming off his friend in waves. In a weak attempt to reassure his friend Shawn reached up and patted Gus lightly on the arm, at the same time peering behind him to see if he could catch a quick glimpse of their mystery person again.

"It might be nobody," Shawn said quietly as he brought his gaze back to Gus, having been unable to locate anything other than trees in the woodland.

"It might be a serial killer," Gus countered, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as though expecting the bogey man to come running at him. "Who else would come here, Shawn?"

"We're here," Shawn said slowly.

"Investigating a double homicide," Gus snapped as he took a small step closer to Shawn as though expecting him to try to dart around him. Gus knew him too well.

"You were planning on leaving me here a minute ago," Shawn argued. He wasn't quite sure what he was trying to achieve as he knew that under normal circumstances he would quite happily go and locate a killer, but he really didn't think it was a good idea at the moment.

A guilty look crossed Gus's face at Shawn's words, but it was quickly replaced by the same panicked expression as before, this time tinged with a bit of frustration which leaked into his voice as he spoke, "That was before I knew anybody else was out here."

That was a very valid point. Even Shawn had to admit that.

"Fair enough," Shawn relented as he took a deep breath, feeling the air grating against his throat almost painfully.

Gus looked almost apologetic as he took a step back from Shawn, instead turning to stand next to him with his back against the building. They both cast a fleeting glance at each other before Shawn returned his attention to the woodland. He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt them start to water only to return his attention to the exact spot where he'd left off. His vision kept blurring and he growled in irritation when he had to resort to squeezing the bridge of his nose to try and refocus. He wasn't even aware that Gus was partly keeping anxious watch over the edge of the woodland as well as the deserted parking lot, but also keeping watch over Shawn, having already seen the strain he was now under.

"I don't like this," Gus said needlessly after a few minutes of tense silence.

"That makes two of us," Shawn commented, willing to agree wholeheartedly that this was shaping out to be a really bad idea. "At least we found something," he added in the hopes that it would lighten the situation somewhat.

Gus didn't answer but he hadn't expected him to.

It was extraordinary how long just a single minute was when you're the damsel in distress awaiting rescue. Not that either he or Gus were damsels, but it made for such a nice comparison. Every time Shawn thought he saw something, he was disappointed a moment later when the branch he had been sure was an arm or a leg moved ever so slightly in the wind to reveal its true nature.

Except…

That was not a branch.

"Gus!" Shawn hissed excitedly as he slapped Gus's arm repeatedly, sadly lacking the energy to jump up and down.

Gus slapped his hand away with a frustrated yelp. Shawn hurriedly shushed him and gave a swift nod towards the woodland. Gus's eyes immediately widened as realisation hit home.

"You see him again?" He sounded far from pleased. His tone was leading more towards the my-name-is-Fearless-Guster-but-I'm-still-terrified and, like Shawn, his eyes were now stuck on the woodland.

"Sure do," Shawn said quietly, not entirely sure why he felt the sudden urge to be quiet as whoever was watching them had most likely already caught on to the fact that they had noticed him.

"I want to go home," Gus said without any false bravado.

"In a minute, buddy," Shawn said distractedly as he looked at the leg he'd seen move slightly to his right. "Let's go."

Again Gus was quick to grab Shawn's arm and almost forcefully haul him back.

"No, Shawn, you're not doing this," Gus said determinedly, having found a smidgen of confidence in his efforts to keep his friend alive.

"Gus," Shawn whined, and apparently whining was actually improved by a sore throat making him sound even more pathetic. "We don't know if it's the killer."

"I don't care, Shawn," Gus snapped, his grip almost painfully tight on Shawn's arm to keep him rooted to the ground, "you are not going over there. Lassiter and Juliet are on their way. Let them handle it."

Gus was almost pleading with him by now and Shawn reluctantly broke his gaze from the woodland to look at the ground, catching sight of his hands in the process. They were shaking. Not much, but definitely visibly shaking. Gus was right. He was definitely not in the condition to chase after possible murderers.

"What if it's the killer?" Shawn asked quietly, his tone laced with anxiety instead of the adrenaline induced excitement from before. Gus turned his head and was clearly about to repeat his earlier sentiment but Shawn cut him off, "Why is he here?"

"How should I know?" Gus glanced back towards the woodland, a slight note of panic creeping back into his voice.

They both suddenly jumped into the air eliciting a high pitched scream at the sight of a car pulling into the parking lot. Screaming proved a bad idea when one's lungs already think it a good idea to attempt to jump up one's throat. Shawn doubled over again, heaving for air once the coughs had run their course.

He looked up, noticing both that his vision was strangely blurry and that Gus was practically keeping him upright.

"_Spencer_!"

He knew that loving tone.

"Shawn, are you okay?" Juliet sounded somewhat worried but also incredibly frustrated. Perhaps she didn't approve any more of his outdoor activities than his dad would.

Shawn blinked.

He somewhat just compared Jules to his dad. It was official. This day couldn't suck any worse.

Being momentarily stuck in a moment of pure horror, Shawn stared blankly at the two detectives before Gus nudged him in the ribs. He was surprisingly less forceful than normal.

"Oh yeah," Shawn breathed as he remembered what was going on. "Possible suspect in the woods, and probable crime scene slash murder scene up that way."

Both detectives stared vacantly at him for a moment and Juliet was the first to process what he'd just said, Lassiter getting there shortly after to bark orders at the uniformed officers who'd also arrived on the scene. Shawn didn't doubt that their suspect had taken off as soon as the cops arrived but he still hoped that Buzz at least would be able to catch up with him. After all, he couldn't have gone _that_ far.

The activity around him turned into a blur and with a groan he felt his legs suddenly give out completely and apparently Gus was so surprised because he definitely hit the ground quite hard.

"You're an idiot, Spencer," Lassiter was saying and when Shawn opened his eyes he could see the detective was looking down at him looking slightly less grouchy than when he normally looked at him.

"I'm just going to sit here for bit," Shawn informed them, not all that surprised to find his voice a little strengthless. No, that wasn't a word but he adamantly refused to use the word, _weak_, to describe his current condition. Shawn gazed hazily up at Lassiter with a confused frown. "Shouldn't you be chasing possible criminals?"

"I've got a team on it," Lassiter said and Shawn almost made a comment about the detective being incredibly good at whipping people into shape but decided against it as it would undoubtedly sound really, _really_ wrong. Lassiter looked behind him and when he returned to look down at Shawn he wore a slight smirk that Shawn knew meant nothing good for him. "Anyway, he's here."

"Who's here?" Shawn asked desperately, his voice coming out a little too quiet and hoarse.

"Shawn!"

"You called him?" Shawn demanded, throwing an accusing glare at Gus who was standing behind him a little too close, but Shawn guessed that maybe his friend was preventing him from falling all the way to the ground.

"No, I didn't call him," Gus shot back. "When should I have called him? In between you finding blood stained bottles and creepy dudes watching us in the woods I've been a little pre-occupied."

"Dude," Shawn corrected. "I only saw one guy. Not two."

Gus raised a hand to slap Shawn around the back of the head but stopped just before it was too late and instead pretended to be swatting flies.

"_I_ called him," Lassiter said, effectively putting an end to the argument.

"Remind me to steal your mug," Shawn said with an annoyed pout.

"Shawn, get off the ground," Henry said in a tone Shawn recognised all too well having heard it at least since the beginning of his teenage years. "We're going. Now."

His dad really didn't look happy.

"But what about the…" Shawn's voice trailed off and he gestured to the area behind him where several units had already moved over along with Juliet.

"Shawn," the warning tone in his dad's voice was unmistakeable. Shawn didn't even have to look at him to know his face was turning red.

"And Gus's car," Shawn argued distractedly, even looking up at Gus for support but his friend was too afraid of the wrath of Henry to respond.

"Shawn. Get in the truck."

There was no doubt in Shawn's mind that with that tone, dear old Henry was turning purple. With a reluctant sigh he let Gus help him up and he was rather pleased with himself when he didn't do a faceplant back down. Henry's patience having run its course, he reached out and took a little too firm a hold on the collar of Shawn's jacket.

"But…the car," Shawn insisted, looking at Gus a little desperately as Henry started leading slash dragging him away towards the truck.

"What about the car?" Lassiter asked, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him.

"It's up on the hill," Gus supplied, saving Shawn from having to go through that explanation as well. He was nearing the point where he would kill for a glass of water. Why did he have to be stupid enough to leave the bottle in the car?

"Why?" Henry asked, sounding nearly evil enough for Shawn to be ready to cast him as the villain in whatever new comic book movie adaptation. At least he'd stopped walking to listen to what Gus was saying.

"We parked near the crime scenes, and…" Gus's voice faltered a bit as he tried to look anywhere but at Henry.

"And?" Henry prompted.

"Walked down," Gus said quietly as though awaiting Henry to start breathing flames. It wasn't too far off as Shawn was almost certain he saw smoke coming out of his father's mouth, nose and ears, thus completing the look for a perfect evil comic book character. He would have to run the idea by Gus at some point. Preferably when his dad wasn't anywhere in sight.

"You can't go there now," Lassiter said rather needlessly as both Shawn and Gus had gathered that ever since seeing that _somebody_ in the woods.

"Gus, you can ride in the truck," Henry said before Lassiter had a chance to continue.

"Shotgun," Shawn said immediately only to be levelled with one of the best glares he'd ever seen from Henry.

"I'm not leaving here without my car," Gus said, his tone bridging no arguments.

Shawn sighed and hung his head. This argument was getting them nowhere and even though he really didn't want to be trapped alone with his dad right now, the necessity to sit down was becoming rather urgent, so he had to end this one way or another.

"It's alright, buddy," he said, trying to sound less croaky, "you stay here and wait for your car."

"I was going to work today," Gus said with an exasperated sigh. He didn't look particular happy with the knowledge that in order to get his car – his _company_ car – he would have to get the all clear from the police. It could easily be a couple of hours before someone could take him up that hill. Shawn actually had the decency to feel a little guilty.

"Anything else you need to tell us, Spencer?" Lassiter asked, glanced back at Shawn and Henry with a faint smirk of amusement.

Shawn did his best to glare at the detective as he mumbled a negative, which, unsurprisingly, only made Lassiter look close to being halfway towards being in a good mood.

"How long until he can get the car?" Shawn asked the question he knew Gus was suppressing.

"I'll send a unit up that way shortly to make sure everything's clear," Lassiter promised, looking slightly less happy now that making-Shawn-feel-miserable time was over.

Before Shawn had time to utter another word he felt a sharp tuck on the collar of his jacket as Henry resumed his walk back to the truck and Shawn made a few futile attempts to dislodge his dad's death grip as his pride was being immensely hurt. Henry didn't let go off him until they reached the truck where Shawn straightened his jacket defiantly and grudgingly climbed into the vehicle. His father pulling his door shut momentarily rocked the truck and Shawn refused to look in his direction and instead pulled his jacket a little tighter around himself before fastening the seat belt.

Even though his father remained silent as he started the engine, Shawn could almost hear him grinding his teeth together and he briefly thought about giving him the same advice he'd given Lassiter on the topic but decided against it. Henry looked positively furious and even Shawn knew that it was not always a good idea to push his father to the limits and through them. Not that he hadn't done it multiple times before but he supposed that now was not the best time to start a grand argument. Mostly because there wasn't much doubt in Shawn's mind that he would most likely loose the argument seeing as his throat felt awfully parched and he was feeling tired again.

They made it a whole three minutes before Shawn broke the silence.

"Hey, do you have any water?"

"You didn't bring water with you either," Henry said, his tone strangely more of a statement than a question. "Of course you didn't."

"We did," Shawn countered, unwilling to back down so early in this little argument.

"Oh, you did?" Henry questioned, sounding more patronizing than interested.

"Yes," Shawn answered in a clipped tone which didn't sound nearly as deadly as he'd wanted it to. "But we left it in the car."

"See that makes more sense," his dad said, his eyes still glued to the road ahead, his gaze not once straying in Shawn's direction.

"I did ask Gus if we could stop for ice cream on the way, but he said no," Shawn rambled quickly, growing increasingly annoyed at his father's determination to not look at him.

Henry chuckled humourlessly, a clear indicator that Shawn was stepping dangerously close the red line.

"So how long has it been since you last drank anything?" The question in itself was innocent enough but his father's tone made him feel like he was being interrogated.

"Since I was in Gus's car," Shawn said shortly, turning his head a little too quickly to stare out the window. The fast moving objects weren't doing his headache any favours so he quickly closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the cool glass.

"Don't be a smartass," Henry scolded causing Shawn to snap his eyes open again. "That wasn't what I asked and you know it."

"An hour," Shawn guessed, "maybe two."

"Two's definitely closer to it."

"If you already knew the answer, why did you ask?" Shawn said, noticing that even though his voice was hoarse it still contained quite a bit of contempt.

Shawn could almost hear his father's blood boiling but was surprised when he merely leant over while keeping his eyes on the road and opened the glove compartment. Immediately seeing the water bottle, Shawn quickly seized it, barely noticing that the seal had yet to be broken.

He must have fallen asleep not long after that because he didn't remember much after drinking the water which, frustratingly, had not brought him nearly as much relief as he'd hoped. He'd woken feeling close to worse than he'd felt before falling asleep which, in Shawn's opinion, was extremely unfair, and looking blearily at his dad's house. Maybe he should have stayed awake in the hope to deter his father from his determination to bring him here rather than his own apartment.

He opened the door in defeat and stumbled out, catching himself on the door before he fell over. Note to self: going on long hill treks when you're running a high fever is a _bad_ idea. He slowly closed the door, having learnt a long time ago not to slam the doors on his dad's truck. That was a lesson that stuck.

Henry was right behind him as he made his way to the house, growing increasingly frustrated by his own slow pace. He gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore any dizziness and sped up a little bit, causing his momentum keep him going a little longer than planned. Who knew that walking into a door could aggravate an already present headache? Shawn stepped aside, rubbing the new ache on his forehead while his dad stepped forward with an exasperated sigh to unlock the door.

"Stay in the kitchen and sit down before you fall down," Henry said in a tone eerily similar to an order once they were inside.

Shawn had been heading for the living room, the couch looking extremely inviting, when his dad had spoken. His shoulders slumped and he reluctantly changed direction to go and sit at the kitchen table.

"What?" Shawn asked dejectedly when Henry merely leant back against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed at stared at Shawn. When his dad didn't immediately answer Shawn looked down at the kitchen table wondering if he could use it as a pillow again, "You're mad."

It didn't take a scientist to see that his father was fuming though he did look calmer than he'd been at the crime scene.

"Yeah, Shawn," Henry verified unnecessarily, "I'm pretty mad. I'm mad that you just took off. I'm mad that you didn't let Gus answer his phone, and I'm mad that my son is _this_ much of an idiot."

Shawn kept his gaze averted from his father, pushing his tongue against his teeth in sheer effort to not retaliate. He put it down to the fever that his vision was feeling humiliatingly blurry again.

"I was trying to solve a case," Shawn countered, trying desperately to keep his voice and temper in check, "and, just so you know, we found some pretty valuable evidence."

"That's great, Shawn; really," Henry said sarcastically as he walked towards the table. "I also heard that there might have been someone else out there."

Shawn looked up briefly at his father, quickly seeing that flicker of worry in his eyes.

"Nothing happened," Shawn said but he didn't really want to go into detail about how both he and Gus had been beyond worried in the time they were waiting for the cops to arrive.

"What if you'd collapsed?" Henry questioned and even though his tone still had a slight edge to it Shawn saw through it and heard that touch of anxiety.

"Dad, I'm fine," Shawn promised, making sure to look his father in the eye as he spoke in the hope that this would help end this slight disagreement quicker.

Henry drew in a deep breath and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at his son.

"I don't suppose you've eaten anything," he finally said, his voice lacking the heat from before.

"Unless you count the wild elderberries."

"Elderberries are poisonous, Shawn."

"Really?"

"In an un-ripened state, yes."

"I knew that."

* * *

In the next chapter I will bring you Shawn whump...*cue another round of evil cackle*


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: No, I was not abducted by aliens. ;) I sincerely apologise for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. I actually started writing this the day after I posted the last chapter but RL never gave me time to write. Next came the teensy weensy problem that I realised I had no idea how to write 'action' scenes. Yes, this is the Shawn whump chapter. I hope it makes up for the long wait and isn't too terrible.

A major thanks to those who are still interested in this story!

* * *

Sunlight was streaming in through the window and he could feel its warmth before he even opened his eyes to see it. Shawn slowly blinked his eyes open, hoping beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn't end up blinded by sunlight immediately. Not only was he not blinded but he also felt warm for the first time in what felt like years (an exaggeration considering he'd only been really sick for a couple of days but that was neither here nor there).

He looked around, momentarily stunned to not see his father's living room but his old bedroom instead before he remembered. Henry had argued that if he could do hill treks for a couple of hours then he could climb the stairs to his bedroom instead of lying around taking up space on the couch. And yes, those were his father's words, not his. He grudgingly had to admit that the bed had been a lot more comfortable, making the journey up the stairs worth every agonizing minute. Shawn liked the fact that he could actually make the walk up the stairs sound a lot worse than it actually was. When it came down to it he'd managed walking up without the need of hand holding or any coughing attacks or dizzy spells.

Being in his old bedroom did have the disadvantage that any time pieces were either very well hidden or not present at all. Shawn craned his neck backwards only to be met with an eyeful of sunlight. That was exactly what he'd expected when he'd just woken up. He groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes before slowly making his way out of bed. Momentarily he'd been sure he was feeling much, _much_ better, but his journey to the vertical proved him wrong. It was at least a small relief that he wasn't feeling worse. His chest still felt too tight and the marching band was still being a little too merry in his head but at least he could stand up without falling over.

It didn't take him long to find his discarded hoodie which he'd carelessly thrown to the side the night before. A quick trip to the bathroom and a little longer trip down the stairs later and Shawn was making his way slowly to the kitchen where he could hear the sounds of breakfast on the way.

"Karen called," Henry said as soon as Shawn stepped foot in the kitchen. Shawn didn't doubt that his dad had been able to hear him before he saw him but a traditional morning greeting would still have been appreciated.

"Good morning," Shawn retorted as he slumped down in a kitchen chair, running a hand through his hair and wincing slightly at the lack of attention it had received these last couple of days. "What did the Chief want?"

"She said you might like to know that they got the guy," Henry answered with his back turned as he popped two pieces of toast in the toaster.

"The guy from the woods?" Shawn asked, feeling much more awake already.

"She didn't specify," Henry said simply, still with his back turned as he returned to the stove. "They apparently got a fingerprint match off of the scene you and Gus discovered during your little adventure yesterday."

Shawn rolled his eyes and leant back in his chair with a sigh.

"You're still mad about that?" He questioned incredulously. "I thought we talked about it already."

Henry didn't answer but instead merely shot a glare at his son over his shoulder. Apparently his dad was still itching to lecture him about something and his great escape with Gus yesterday still held excellent potential.

"So, we caught a bad guy, that's pretty good," Shawn said, trying to sound as enthusiastic about this as possible in the hopes that his father would take the bait (like his poor defenceless fish) and change the topic.

"Yes, Shawn, it's terrific," Henry retorted as he spun around setting a plate of food down in front of Shawn with a little more force than necessary. "Eat your breakfast."

Shawn slowly turned his gaze to the plate in front of him, squinting slightly as he eyed it closer.

"Don't you have any –" Shawn started but Henry quickly cut him off.

"Cereal? No, you're not eating cereal for breakfast."

"That's cool," Shawn said smoothly, "I prefer it for lunch anyway."

Shawn smirked and did his very best to keep from chuckling out loud as he watched his father abruptly turn his back again, his shoulders tensing while his hands clenched and unclenched. Shawn looked back down at the plate, eyeing the – was that egg? – with some suspicion. True, nausea had not shown its face again, but Shawn wasn't exactly willing to put it to a test. He glanced back at his father who had apparently managed to keep his anger and frustration at bay and was now shovelling food onto his own plate. He still didn't look to happy, meaning there was no way Shawn was getting out of eating this…mush.

"Did the Chief tell you anything else?" Shawn asked after a while of silently poking at the food, realising that there was still something bothering him about this case. There was the very high probability that it was simply because he hadn't had a chance to do a wrap-up, thus not having a full picture of this case, but it was hard to just put it away simply because he was told that they'd caught the bad guy.

"To tell you to get better," Henry said offhandedly, not taking his eyes off his newspaper.

Shawn shot a false smile at his father, pretty sure that it came out more as an annoyed grimace. It was fairly obvious that his father was reluctant to give him any more information giving Shawn no other option but having to investigate on his own to find out the whole truth about this case. There was just one little problem.

He had to get out of the house.

"What are you doing today?" Shawn asked innocently, simultaneously poking at what he assumed was egg, though he hadn't actually had the nerve to try it yet.

"Nothing," Henry said curtly.

"When's your poker game?" Shawn said with the same light tone as before.

"Tonight," Henry answered, looking at Shawn briefly as he spoke.

"So, why aren't you going?" Shawn did his best to sound interested instead of desperate.

Shawn already knew what the answer was going to be when his father took the time to carefully fold his newspaper before laying it aside and turning to look at Shawn with a slight smirk.

"I'm not leaving this house just so you can sneak out."

"Don't be ridiculous," Shawn chuckled quickly, "I would never…"

Henry shut him up with one look.

"I informed Gus of this as well," Henry said, earning Shawn's attention again.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shawn questioned, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

"I told him that under no uncertain terms is he to drive you anywhere."

"Can he walk me?" Shawn quipped humourlessly, not even bothering to try to hide his annoyance at his dad's interference.

"He can't answer calls from you," Henry said with a false sweetness to his voice that had always been able to make Shawn's humour dissipate, leaving only room for frustration.

"I'm a grown man, dad," Shawn said, desperately trying to keep his tone civil, "you don't have to baby-sit me."

"No, but someone has to," Henry retorted as he picked up his plate and walked over to the sink. Shawn momentarily thought about throwing his plate at his father but was unsure how that would prove maturity.

"You are absolutely right," Shawn said finally, "but I'm sure the fishing rod and the hook will be able to watch over me just fine."

Henry turned around slowly and Shawn took great pride in the fact that his father's face was again turning a fine sheen of purple. His father held up a hand towards Shawn long enough for Shawn to notice how it shook slightly, before Henry slowly and steadily walked outside. Shawn looked towards the door, still seated at the kitchen table, wondering if his father was actually out to get the fishing rod.

By the time Henry returned indoors, Shawn had left the kitchen and had deemed the staircase a little too daunting task and instead settled on the couch, looking around the familiar room and trying to find something that could catch his attention and maybe distract him a little bit from the tightness in his chest that had crashed the party.

Shawn didn't hear his father enter the living room and didn't notice him standing in the doorway, his mind occupied with trying to find the piece of the puzzle that was bothering him so much about this case. It was too simple. Too clean. So what, he and Gus stumble across the possible murder site and the next minute the cops have arrested the culprit? It was never that easy.

"You are trying to figure something out," his father's voice snapped him from his thoughts and he turned his head a little too quickly to the side making black spots momentarily dance before his vision but he managed to ignore it until it settled.

"Who's cooler? Batman or Superman?" Shawn inquired with mock sincerity without missing a beat.

Henry's eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded his son, trying to figure out what was going on inside his mind. He had been the sole person besides his mother in the past who'd accomplished the task of nailing exactly what Shawn was thinking about, so Shawn didn't doubt that given enough time his father would figure it out, or maybe he had reached the same conclusion about the case as soon as Chief Vick had told him but he just wasn't sharing. That wouldn't be a shocker.

"You used to like Superman better," Henry commented lightly as he stepped further into the room.

Shawn nodded thoughtfully, mulling the thought over.

"Both have weaknesses," Shawn said offhandedly, his mind not fully on the topic at hand.

"And?" Henry prompted, now standing next to the couch, looking down at Shawn with a slight smile on his face.

"Batman _is_ pretty cool, though," Shawn said. "More badass." Henry raised his eyebrows slightly at that comment as though wondering exactly where his son was going with this. "But Batman wouldn't really be Batman without Alfred."

"Your point being?" Henry asked, now regarding Shawn with some interest.

"Alfred helps, like _a lot_, right?" Shawn said, his words coming out quicker than his parched throat and burning lungs would accept but he coughed quickly and carried on talking regardless. "That doesn't make Batman less good; that just makes him better. Having that help, or sidekick, makes him _better_."

"Shawn, where are you going with this?" Henry questioned as he sat down on the armrest of the couch.

Shawn bounced slightly on the cushions of the couch before his dad put a steadying hand on his shoulder. Shawn supposed he was worried about the springs.

"Superman has _awesome_ powers, but Batman…" Shawn chewed slightly on his bottom lip in thought before looking up at his father. "He had help."

"Yes, Shawn you already established the fact that Alfred helps Batman," Henry retorted wryly.

"What? What are you talking about? I'm not talking about Batman and Alfred," Shawn spoke as quickly as he was able, still trying to bounce on the cushions even though his father continuously stopped him. "The killer. You said the Chief said they got one guy. There are two guys, there has to be."

"And when did you reach this conclusion?" Henry asked but his tone suggested that this was something he had suspected as well but Shawn decided to play along.

"Yesterday."

"Did you tell the police?" Henry asked.

Shawn shook his head slowly and he heard his father sigh as he pushed up from the couch, leaving Shawn alone as he walked back to the kitchen.

"Are you sure the Chief didn't say anything else?" Shawn inquired, having to repeat the question when he realised that his father hadn't heard him.

"Karen and I agreed on something," Henry said as he reappeared in the doorway. Shawn already knew this wasn't going to fall in his favour. "You are not going on anymore nature adventures," Henry continued, pointing at Shawn sternly, "you are to focus on getting better."

"That why you won't allow me to talk to Gus?" Shawn asked quietly, a slight note of bitterness to his voice.

"It's for your own good," Henry said and turned around to go back to the kitchen before stopping and adding, "and for Gus's."

Shawn glared at his father's retreating back, briefly considering sticking his tongue out at the man but came to the conclusion that maybe that would be a little too childish. Being under house arrest did nothing to still his whirling thoughts; in fact, it only seemed to aggravate his need to do something. His body obviously disagreed because he was dangerously close to tasting carpet when he pushed upwards a little too quickly, having been lulled into a false sense of security earlier when he'd felt marginally better. He caught himself on the armrest of the couch before he lost his balance completely, although he still ended up sitting on the couch again instead of in the intended standing position.

Shawn huffed a sigh and glared at his legs and then the couch. Apparently it had been a very bad idea to fall asleep on his bike during a rainstorm in the middle of the night. He hadn't even told Gus. An argument with his father gone slightly worse than usual was the cause for his current condition. He'd been mad. Scratch that; he'd been livid. Their arguments hadn't been as heated as of late but there must have been something in the water that night because both of them lost their temper quickly. Shawn refused to say that he'd run off. He'd left. Granted, yes, he had driven a little hazardously but his trustworthy Norton had stayed on the road and he'd come to his senses after an hour. He'd stopped somewhere in the middle of nowhere with the intention to just sit there for a little while. Sleep had claimed him shortly after that, and it hadn't been long before the rain had started. Thankfully it hadn't rained very long before he'd awoken to officially declare it a very sucky evening.

With a deep breath that tickled his throat and lungs, Shawn forced himself to his feet and, staying on them this time round, shuffled towards the kitchen to find out what exactly his father was doing. Yes, he was bored.

* * *

"I can take care of myself," Shawn said, meaning the words even though he'd said them offhandedly for the past five or six hours. His father put the crossword section of the newspaper down with one quick motion, causing Shawn to jump slightly from his seated position on the kitchen table where he'd been moping for the past twenty minutes. To halt his father's undoubtedly heated words, Shawn quickly continued, "What I mean is that, you enjoy your poker games and I'm probably just going to be sleeping anyway, so I won't need a babysitter. Didn't you say yourself earlier that my fever had gone down a little despite my extracurricular activities yesterday?"

"I am going to the poker game," Henry said finally as he picked up the newspaper again.

"You are?" Shawn questioned in surprise.

"Yeah, I figured if I lock all the doors it's going to make it a little harder for you leave as soon as I'm out the door," Henry clarified, his eyes fixed on the crossword puzzle he was trying to solve, but Shawn didn't miss the sly smirk tucking on one side of his lips.

"You're…you…" Shawn halted to clear his throat, "You are going to put me in lockup?" He narrowly resisted the "again" that was sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Henry chuckled slightly at Shawn's incredulous tone but kept his eyes on the crossword, placing the newspaper on the table to fill in a word.

"Seemed like a viable solution," Henry said with an air of superiority that made Shawn feel fifteen years old again, itching to start a fight but knowing that it wasn't the best idea. Instead he bit his tongue to keep from snapping at his father.

"That's great," Shawn ground out sarcastically as he pushed away from the table and stubbornly walked out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, knowing full well that this completed the look of petulant teenager but at least he refrained from slamming the door. It just closed with a slightly louder sound than normal.

By the time his father left Shawn had fallen asleep for a few hours but had inconspicuously made his way downstairs just as Henry was going out the door. He waited on the staircase until he heard the door close and then made his way down as quickly as he dared. He checked the door in the kitchen first.

Locked.

The door in the living room was the next one for inspection.

Locked.

He had actually been serious.

Shawn fished out his cell phone which he had shoved into the pocket of his hoodie earlier just to make sure his father didn't decide to confiscate it. He didn't waste time in dialling Gus's number, but was thoroughly disappointed when Gus apparently headed Henry's warning and didn't answer his call.

"Help!" Shawn yelped frantically when the phone went to voicemail. "I'm being held against my will! I'm in desperate need of immediate rescuing."

He ended the message and instantly re-dialled Gus only to get the same result.

"Gus, my dad will never need to know," Shawn pleaded desperately, but it seemed that his father had been more convincing because he still didn't get a response from his best friend.

In a huff, Shawn cast the phone at the coffee table in the living room, watching as it skidded momentarily across the surface before it settled as he dropped down on the couch. Shawn turned his head round to send a deadly glare at the locked door leading outside to freedom. He hadn't actually been planning on sneaking out until his father had told him he was going to lock all of the doors. It had been the restraining factor that had made Shawn feel as though the walls were closing in around him and he simply _had_ to get out. The urge hadn't been this strong as long as he had choice.

Shawn halted his inner ramblings and turned his head towards the kitchen. There was no way his dad was back after only five minutes and he never forgot anything either, so why was Shawn certain he had heard something?

He pushed himself up from the couch and slowly moved into the kitchen and stopped once he was inside, looking around for the source of the noise he'd heard. Nothing seemed amiss. Everything was in the annoying neat order as before his father left which reminded Shawn that one thing he could at least occupy himself with was rearranging everything in the kitchen. Yeah, that could be fun.

Shawn snapped back to attention when his gaze was drawn to the kitchen door. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the door handle.

It was definitely moving.

Shawn was caught in a moment of uncertainty on the account on whether to charge towards the door and open it or slink back into the relative shadows of the living room. Not moving was definitely out of the question, mostly because not moving was never an option for Shawn and he wasn't about to make it one now.

He took one hesitant step forward before stepping back quickly again, grabbing the newspaper his father had left on the kitchen table. Fully equipped with safety gear, Shawn made his way back towards the door, the handle now still but he was not about to take any chances. Maybe Gus had come to bail him out after all.

It was first when he reached the door that he realised that his excellent and flawless plan was neither excellent nor flawless as he had momentarily forgotten that his dad had locked him in, so he was incapable of hauling the door open and whacking the unsuspecting visitor over the head with the folded up newspaper. He tucked on the door handle a few times before letting go of it with an annoyed huff.

He sniffed as he turned his attention to the window, pressing his face against it in an effort to see through the darkness outside, but was irksomely unable to make out anything. Shawn shook off the shiver that ran down his spine and instead tightened his hold around the newspaper as he slowly retreated backwards into the living room, keeping his gaze fixed on the kitchen door in case the door handle should spring back to life.

He didn't hear anyone moving up behind him.

He yelped in surprise as he was suddenly jerked backwards by a strong arm lodged across his throat. Instinctively gasping for air he found he could not draw a breath. His fingers frantically scraped and pushed against the arm cutting off his air supply but to no avail.

His memory went into overdrive as he desperately searched for _anything_ that could be of some assistance. He tried shoving his weight backwards but his attacker was taller, stronger and he was only capable of loosening the deadly hold a fraction before it tightened again.

His mind flashed to movie night a couple of weeks ago; Jules had joined them and they had somehow ended up watching _Miss Congeniality 2,_ even though this was nowhere near an eighties film.

Sing.

That was entirely unhelpful.

Shawn dug his fingers into the cloth of his attacker's sleeve, heaving and tucking to dislodge the pressure that was literally squeezing the life out of him.

Sing.

Shawn highly doubted that singing would be of any assistance in this situation, especially considering he _couldn't even breathe_. Unless singing the remixed version of _Kung Fu Fighting_ would somehow magically make a kung fu fighting panda materialise, singing was not helpful.

He tried to gasp in a breath as he continued struggling desperately against his attacker's strong hold, only managing to begin to draw in a wheezing breath before this too was cut off.

Sing.

And then it clicked.

S.I.N.G.

Solar plexus.

Instep.

Nose.

Groin.

His movements were sluggish at best but Shawn hit each mark with as much force as he possibly could, though he barely heard his attacker's growl of pain as the pressure around his throat disappeared. He lurched forward, stumbling to his hands and knees, as he simultaneously wheezed and coughed making it near impossible to gulp in much needed air.

He didn't have time to stay on the floor but _damn it_ he couldn't breathe. He gasped and wheezed, trying desperately to force in a breath even though his throat felt like it had closed off completely. His body was shaking, his arms barely able to keep him from falling completely to the floor, but it was pure survival instinct that forced his body to cooperate long enough to get him stumbling back to his feet, immediately crashing sideways into a wall as a body slammed into his. He yelped in pain and was momentarily dazed as his head struck hard against the wall.

Shawn shoved as hard as he could against the attacker and it was forceful enough to make the other stumble backwards and away from him. Shawn looked frantically towards the kitchen, knowing the door was locked giving him no chance of escape. He assumed his attacker had somehow come through the living room but there was no way he would be able to get to that door as that would mean getting past the intruder.

He ducked just in time and the fist that was meant for his face hit the wall behind him, earning a growl from the other man. Shawn saw his opening and bolted for the stairs, jumping up the steps, stumbling but catching himself before he fell. He flung open the door to his bedroom, barely getting inside before slamming the door shut and leaning his whole body against it. He looked down at the keyhole but knew there wouldn't be a key. His father had long since confiscated it to prevent Shawn from locking the door. Right now Shawn really wished he hadn't.

His eyes flew to the small bedside table and he whined in frustration, knowing full well it wouldn't be able to hold the door for very long, but he charged towards it, not caring if anything fell off it in his hurry to get it in front of the door. Just as he'd placed the table under the door handle he pushed his back up against the door, feeling it shaking when a body slammed against it from the other side.

Shawn frantically searched the small room, his eyes landing on the window. With an apprehensive look at the door handle Shawn flung himself across the room, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. His hands were shaking as he tried to get the latch on the window to open. There was no way his father would have thought to lock this window as well. There was simply no way.

He threw his body at the window but his relief at it finally opening was short lived as at that moment the door to his bedroom flew open, sending the bedside table crashing to the floor.

His attacker was masked. He hadn't noticed downstairs but he could see him a little too clearly as he stood in the doorway to his childhood haven, completely and utterly uninvited. It looked as if he'd drawn a nylon sock over his face, making his features completely indistinguishable. He was a walking cliché for masked intruders, dressed completely in black, including his gloves.

It only took the other man a second to orient himself to the new surroundings, and Shawn was shoving at the window just as he launched across the room. Shawn had no idea how his elbow connected with the attacker's face, but he didn't want to question it because it bought him valuable seconds in which to at least _try_ to get out of the house through the window. Too bad he hadn't hit very hard.

He let out a half-strangled yell when hands suddenly clasped hard around his ankles and heaved him away from the window and down on the floor. His elbow missed in its second attempt at whacking the man in the face, Shawn being on the receiving end instead of something hitting his jaw. Hard.

Shawn had a moment to shake his head dazedly, wondering if his head had been rattled because that would certainly explain the rather peculiar noise he was hearing. He blinked hard a couple of times and his vision cleared just in time to see _something_ racing for his face.

Was that…?

Shawn rolled to the side and just narrowly dodged the blow aimed towards him. He ground his teeth together against the pain letting itself known throughout his body, but pushed through it enough to gather his feet under him just in time to be slammed to the floor again, again followed by that peculiar noise.

He'd landed facedown on the already throbbing side of his face, but it didn't take him long to force his body to _get the hell_ out of the way before the next blow landed. Shawn rolled quickly onto his back and kicked out hard, the motion followed by a pained grunt. He had no idea where he'd hit but he didn't care as long as he'd managed to hit something.

He managed to get all of the way to his feet this time without getting knocked down again and just long enough to register the item his attacker had used to bludgeon him with.

Damn it.

That was _his_ Furby!

Shawn realised that he must have kicked harder than he thought because his attacker was still doubled over in pain and had dropped the Furby. Not daring to waste a second, Shawn quickly grabbed the Furby and took one step back before throwing it at his attacker, watching as it sailed through the air with a euphoric squeal before hitting its mark. His aim really was better.

His attacker was now clutching the back of his head where the new pain had blossomed. Somehow during their struggle they had got turned around putting Shawn closer to the door than the window. He didn't hesitate.

His legs moved faster than his brain was capable to register leaving him terrifyingly close to flying down the stairs Furby-style instead of running. He misjudged the distance at the last step sending him crashing face first to the floor at the bottom of the stairs. As much as he would have liked to stay there and moan in pain, he pushed himself to his feet with a groan, his right leg shaking in protest. He'd apparently hit his knee harder than he first thought, because _damn it_ that hurt. He dared a quick glance over his shoulder, wishing he hadn't when he saw the other man come stumbling out of his bedroom.

Shawn charged for the living room door hoping beyond all hope that this was the way the intruder had come. His body screamed in protest, but he pushed through it, seeing no other option but getting to that door. He coughed hard, feeling his chest tightening, sending black spots dancing across his vision.

The door was open.

He could see it. He could feel the evening wind drifting through it.

The sliding door was barely open enough for him to get through but he hardly noticed as his left shoulder caught on the doorframe, only that it resulted in bringing him further out of balance. He caught himself on the railing on the porch before jumping down the steps and onto the lawn, barely registering the wetness from the grass seeping into his socks.

The wind was knocked out of him and in seconds his face was pressed into the wet grass, a hand holding tightly across his neck, while a knee was definitely placed firmly on his back. Shawn tried to jerk his head backwards but the hold on his neck was relentless, making it impossible to move and inch. He jerked again when he felt hot breath on his face as his attacker leaned closer, whispering three words that had Shawn convinced that he had to get out of here _now_.

"They deserved it."

Taking advantage of his attacker's closeness, Shawn jerked his right shoulder back quickly, narrowly missing the other man's nose, who'd had to shift to avoid the hit. The slight relieve in pressure on his neck was enough. He didn't care about elegance, only survival, as he twisted, rolled and hit and kicked his way out from underneath the man.

He half-crawled, half-stumbled away, knowing that he had to get his feet under him; that he had to _move._ He was somewhat ready the next time the man tried to tackle him and slammed his elbow back just in time to catch the man in the gut, giving him a few more precious seconds to try to get his body to cooperate. His vision was already swimming and movement only made it worse. His chest was way too tight for comfort making it even harder to breathe.

Shawn made it halfway across the lawn this time before a hand roughly grabbed his left arm and yanked him back causing him to yelp in pain at the strain it put on his shoulder. However, he used the movement his attacker had forced to slam his right arm into the side of the other's head. The man growled and shook his head briefly and Shawn barely had time to register the loss of pressure on his arm before a fist slammed into the left side of his jaw.

He didn't feel it when his body hit the ground. He blinked dazedly up at the stars overhead, feeling strangely weightless. His hearing had disappeared, allowing him only to hear the rush of blood in his ears, and he didn't know if his vision had been messed up too because he was pretty sure there had only been one attacker before. Now, two faces were leaning over him, but just as his brain caught up with him long enough to count to two, the figures morphed into one again. He blinked again, trying to get his vision to focus a little better.

He tried to sluggishly throw a fist at the other man, but his aim was way off and only earned him another hard punch to the face. A breath caught in his throat and a cough was forced from his chest, making him a little too aware of the pain radiating off his body.

Someone was tapping him none too gently on the cheek and his vision zeroed in on the covered face inches in front of his own. Sound returned then almost as if a switch had been flicked. He'd seen the man's lips move underneath the nylon sock but hadn't listened to the words.

"Hey!" The other's voice was rough and he was still tapping slash slapping him, apparently not satisfied with Shawn's attentiveness. Shawn did his very best to focus and it seemed the man was finally satisfied as the slapping stopped only to give way to a firm hold around his jaw, locking his head in place to stare directly at his attacker. "You listen. Consider this a warning. My father is out of jail or bad things are gonna start happening to people you care about."

Shawn twisted in the man's grip, but he didn't let go. He looked back up at the man and confusion must have shown on his face because his attacker elaborated.

"You were in the woods. You and that other guy. You've proven to be a liability." Shawn tried to shake his head, not liking where this was going at all. "Whether you die or not is not important. Either way this will serve as a sufficient warning."

Shawn barely had time to register the words before the hold on his jaw was released and a searing pain erupted in his gut. He wanted to cry out in pain but he couldn't even draw in a breath to yell. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to think.

It hurt.

* * *

I know. I'm not actually justified to have a cliffhanger after such a long wait. I will do my very best to get the next chapter up quickly - meaning at least loads quicker than this one. ;)


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